


Promises to Keep

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Sidhe, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Merlin had reached Avalon in time? What price would he have to pay to save Arthur's life? Series 5 Canon AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Some dialogue from the first part of the story is from the Merlin episode, The Diamond of the Day part 2, by Julian Jones. 
> 
> Phenomenal Beta Reader: Her name is Camelittle and she's amazing. She whipped me into shape. When I was stuck, she sent lots of suggestions, and while I didn't use them, it didn't matter because they were awesome ideas! She was a cheerleader, too. Thoroughly enjoyed working with her. She did a fantastic job as beta reader and all-round terrific brit-picker. Any pesky mistakes you might find are mine!
> 
> Amazing Artist: texasfandoodler was just so darn good. I don't think I'd have finished if not for her inspiring artwork! Her artwork was always amazing. Plus she was so terrific to work with that I haven't words to say about how great she was. She died recently in a house fire and I'm still grieving for her. She was a wonderful person. http://texasfandoodler.livejournal.com/22295.html on LJ

** **

 

It was all his fault. There had been the relentless call of destiny and yet no matter how much Merlin had struggled against it, in the end, his choices, his lies, his _fear_ had led to Camlann.

And Arthur paid the price for it.

With Excalibur still clutched in his hand, he lay among the litter of dead bodies, men he'd killed for Camelot, and next to him, young Mordred was sprawled, an unmoving corpse.

Merlin couldn't breathe. His mind was insisting that somehow if he didn't move, if he could keep time frozen at that moment, it would not be real; Arthur would still be alive and he'd be able to save him.

But of course, that was absurd.

Around him, Merlin could hear Camlann's battle raging on but he ignored it, ignored the gore and savage chaos around him, the screams, the murderous clang of swords, the stench of bodies ripped apart. Entrails and vomit and death.

For Merlin, there was only Arthur.

Even as he stared down at him, he was praying to whatever gods would listen to him that he wasn't too late, that he could still fix it all somehow. He would do anything, kill a hundred enemies, a thousand, give up his own life if only Arthur lived.

But the gods were silent. His destiny was lying there, among the corpses, exhaling harsh pain into the night sky.

Moaning….

He didn't remember kneeling down but when he placed his hand against Arthur's neck and felt the slow reassuring thud of a heartbeat, Merlin knew he could finally breathe again.

There was still time to make things right.

In the distance, there was a great roar of triumph. It sounded as if Camelot's forces had won at last but the fighting was not over yet and Merlin shuddered, realising that he had to get Arthur away before the Saxons found them and ended his king's life once and for all. Gathering him up, slowly placing one foot in front of another, Merlin turned past the carnage, past Mordred's dead eyes, past enemies and friends and Camlann.

By all rights, he should have gone straight to the medical tent where Gaius and the others would be tending to the wounded. But he knew if he did, if he surrendered Arthur to them, to the knights and nobles of the court, they'd have kept him away, probably would clap him in irons and shove him into the nearest, deepest pit. They would certainly try to prevent Merlin from using magic on their king.

Sorcerers were still not welcome, even ones who had saved the battle for Camelot. It was Merlin's fault after all, Merlin's shame that they weren't accepted, even revered. It had been his bone-deep fear that led them all down the path and only now, gathering his courage at last, he knew he'd have to right it, even if Arthur rejected him in the end.

But there would be no salvation for Arthur in the medical tent. Magic was the only force that could still save him now.

For it was sorcery and not a simple blade's thrust that was destroying the destiny they'd forged together. An ordinary wound would have been easy enough to heal; instead Merlin could feel the wrongness deep in Arthur's chest, the red malevolence that seemed to pulse, pulse, pulse with every beat of his beloved king's heart.

So he took one step away from the battle and another, holding Arthur close to him. He tried not to jostle him too much, watching where he walked in order to make sure his clumsiness didn't get the better of him, all the while worrying about blood loss and pain, about making things worse. He whispered healing spells over and over again, hoping that somehow his magic would be able to overcome whatever Mordred's blade had destroyed, hoping that a thousand spells spoken with love and longing would heal him.

After all, Merlin was supposed to be a sorcerer, the greatest of them all, and what good was it if he couldn't help Arthur?

And yet still nothing changed. Arthur was not waking, not healing. Dark magic raging against the light and the dark forces were winning.

But desperate, despairing, it did not stop Merlin from trying again and again. And again.

* * *

 

It was quieter in the woods. Laying Arthur down onto the cold ground, unwilling to leave him even for a moment, with a flick of his fingertips, firewood gathered next to him, stones rolling into a neat firepit —Merlin would have smiled if it hadn't been so dire, and a breath later, a fire was burning brightly beside them.

Exhausted, Merlin knew that he couldn't stop. Arthur needed him, now more than ever. Resting his hands upon the wound, he tried to draw out whatever Mordred had left behind in Arthur's chest, putting everything of his magic into the command. " _Yfel gæ_ _st, áfierre þ_ _u fram þisne líchaman."_

But although the wound has long since stopped weeping blood, the wrongness continued and nothing emerged. It was still trapped in there, embedded deep within Arthur's body.

He had no idea what to do about it.

But Kilgharrah might. Sending out a mind's cry, he called for the dragon to come, to help him, to lend him enough magic to heal Arthur. Again and again he shouted out into the night but there was only silence. Kilgharrah did not come and Merlin was left to try anyway.

He pulled up Arthur's chainmail, taking care not to jostle him too much, undoing the quilted gambeson underneath and the thin shirt. Arthur's skin was ragged around the wound but although it looked horrible to Merlin's eyes, there was no stench of destroyed bowels, only the tang of dried blood and sweat.

A dozen more healing spells, each more frenzied than the last but it was to no avail. There was no change, no dragon coming to rescue them, nothing but Merlin's magic, and even that was useless.

He sat back, face wet with tears, watching his Arthur's chest slowly rise and fall and knew it was his fault - for everything. His choices, his decisions had led them all to this and now Arthur lay dying, despite his best efforts.

He should have taken Arthur back to Camelot after all. At least there, he might have had a chance.

But something must have worked. Arthur blinked, his eyes unfocused, and as he moved, his face twisted into agony. "Mer..lin?"

Pushing him back down, Merlin smoothed one hand over Arthur's cheek. "Lie back, Arthur, rest." When Arthur just looked up at him, questions in his eyes, Merlin said, "The battle is won. Morgana's armies are destroyed." Arthur seemed satisfied with that, nodding at the news, but Merlin was tired of lies. It had only brought them both pain. He leaned in, his face wet with tears, and said, "But I should have stayed with you. I knew Mordred was the real enemy and instead I defeated the Saxon hordes, chased away Morgana's dragon. I thought… I thought it would keep you safe but I failed. I failed you so badly, Arthur. I am sorrier than you can ever know."

He couldn't bear to look at Arthur at that moment. The war was lost if Arthur didn't survive; Merlin would be lost, too. It was all he could do to keep from raging at the sky.

"It wasn't you. It was that old man, the sorcerer. He defeated them." Arthur gave another hiss of pain and then he said, "The sorcerer."

Shaking his head, unable to bear it a moment longer, knowing that if he didn't speak up now, he never would, Merlin said, "It was me. It was me. I am a sorcerer. I have magic."

The look of confusion on Arthur's face would have broken Merlin's heart if it wasn't already shattered. "You are not a sorcerer. I would know."

But Merlin could not let it go. It was past time Arthur knew the truth, even if he hated Merlin for it. Pulling on his magic, he lifted his hand and said softly, " _Upastige draca_!"

The spark dragon hovering above the fire was beautiful, joyously wheeling in flight and he'd hoped Arthur would see just how wonderful magic could be but as he turned back to Arthur, there was only fear and utter betrayal in his eyes. Merlin's heart broke all over again.

"Arthur, please, you have to understand."

Pain twisted in Arthur's face as he shuddered back away from Merlin's touch, as if he couldn't bear to be near him, as if Merlin had somehow defiled their friendship with sorcery. He must have seen magic as a pestilence, a plague meant to strike at the heart of Camelot, and Merlin nothing but a traitor for practicing it.

Arthur frowned up at him, looking as if he'd never wanted to see him again. "Leave me."

He'd wanted to explain, but there was nothing to be done once Arthur used that tone. They both knew that Arthur wouldn't change his mind, not this time.

Merlin had failed — at everything.


	2. Chapter 2

How Gaius found their encampment Merlin didn't know. But a hurried conversation confirmed the worst. Arthur would die unless the blade fragment inside him was removed.

When Merlin pressed him, Gaius just shook his head, claiming that it was beyond his knowledge of medicine and perhaps beyond Merlin's magic as well. Only the dragon or the Sidhe were powerful enough to defeat the dark magic - and Kilgharrah still wasn't answering Merlin's call.

Arthur protested, of course. He wanted nothing more to do with Merlin and certainly nothing to do with magic, piling stones of guilt onto Merlin's chest with every contemptuous word. But Gaius was persuasive and Arthur's long history with the physician was enough for him to agree to try.

Merlin wasn't sure if it made things better or worse.

* * *

It was difficult.

Arthur's stubborn silence, punctured at times with soft pain-filled murmurs - as if Arthur was trying to keep his weakness from Merlin, didn't make things any easier. He kept up with the healing spells, whispering them into the air where Arthur couldn't or wouldn't hear them, hoping somehow they would work. But aside from the absence of blood and the sometimes-easing of Arthur's agony, Merlin knew they were running out of time.

The travelling, too, was hard on them both. He could feel Arthur's contempt when he dispatched Saxon bandits or hid their trail with tricks and magic. Once in a while, Arthur would let something slip, their old relationship trying to reassert itself but then he'd shut down again or make some cutting remark that he knew would hurt Merlin, a deliberate attempt at keeping him at bay.

Things came to a head later that evening. As Merlin took off Arthur's boots, setting them near the fire to dry them out, and then dishing out the stew he'd prepared, Arthur shook his head, saying, "Why are you doing this? Acting like a servant when you have magic? Hiding behind that stupid grin and idiotic demeanour? Is it a ruse? Getting me to trust you while you were stabbing me in the back?"

Underneath all the belligerence and accusations, there was a hurt tone in Arthur's voice that made Merlin ache with grief. "Is that what you think?"

"Why else? We've had enough sorcerers trying to take over Camelot. Perhaps your way is just more subtle, unbelievably hard as that is to accept. You do the idiot act so very well."

The insults were so familiar that, for a moment, Merlin couldn't help but protest. "It's not an act!"

Arthur started to smile at that but quickly turned sullen. Holding himself still, he scowled up at him, then turned away, a clear dismissal.

But Merlin wasn't having any of it. They'd lost too much time talking past each other and for once, he wanted Arthur to know the truth. "I've saved your life so many times I've lost count. I've not done it for money or glory or to take over Camelot. I did it because I know you are a fair and just king, even while being a complete and utter clotpole." When Arthur blinked up at him, looking furious, looking as if he didn't believe a word Merlin was saying, he sighed, accepting the silent rebuke. "I know you think I've lied to you and I have. I've been a coward and now you are paying the price. I should have confessed about my magic long ago. If I had, maybe you'd see that magic is just as much a part of Camelot as the air we breathe or the water we drink or the fire that warms us at night."

"Magic brings nothing but misery." Flat, dismissive, as contemptuous as Merlin had ever heard him.

His anger flared. Arthur really could be an incredibly stubborn arse at times. "A sword brings misery, too, but I don't see you giving it up. Because it can be used for good. Just like magic."

When Arthur didn't say anything else, just lay there glaring at him, Merlin nodded, then placed his hand under Arthur's head and lifted him up enough to spoon stew into him. He didn't want the bloody dollophead to choke after all. "You want to know why I'm doing this? Damn it, Arthur, you are my best friend and I don't want to lose you. So eat up and save your strength. We've a long way to go." And then he shoved the stew into Arthur's open mouth.

* * *

But Arthur must have listened, at least a little. Scowling most of the time, tight-lipped and silent, he kept watching Merlin, but it wasn't always hostile, and once in a while, there was even a thoughtful, almost accepting look about him.

Hoping the frost between them was thinning, even a little, knowing that it might be his last chance to make things right, Merlin began to talk of his life in Ealdor. Growing up, he had such a lonely existence with only Will and his mother knowing the truth and it had become impossible to find his place there. Coming to Camelot, he'd had such high hopes of learning to control his gifts. And then there was that first awful day when he realised the dangers of having magic. He told Arthur of his initial pique of being passed off like some kind of present to a princely prat and then a growing sense of rightness about it. Of protecting a royal arse who had an unearthly ability to attract trouble. Of Nimueh's bargains and Kilgharrah's lies. Of Balinor and failure. Of his belief that Arthur was a friend, no matter how much he might deny it, and his beloved king. Of their destiny together and his hopes for the future.

It was only when they rested, an increasingly frequent occurrence that alarmed Merlin more than he could say, did Arthur finally let him in.

"Why did you never tell me?"

It sounded as if Arthur was trying to keep the hurt out of his voice but Merlin had known him too long not to recognize what he was trying to do. In a way, it warmed him. It meant that Arthur might have even started to forgive him, just a little.

He tried to smile but the remembered ever-constant dread of the last ten years was still lurking just beneath the surface as he said, "I was afraid you'd cut my head off."

"I'm not sure what I'd have done."

At least Arthur didn't lie about it. After all, in the early days, he probably would have sided with Uther and watch Merlin be executed; he'd arrested Merlin for it more than once. But knowing that he might have had forgiveness if only he'd said something before it was too late, made his chest ache.

"And I didn't want to put you in that position." It was not quite the whole truth but close enough.

"That's what worried you?" Arthur shook his head, rolled his eyes at the idea. "You really are an idiot."

Merlin only shrugged. There weren't enough words to tell Arthur of how living every day with the knowledge that it might be his last had warped him, changed him from a sunny foolish boy to the man he had become.

Maybe he didn't need to. Arthur could always read him well enough, except perhaps for the magic. If they were able to make it to the Lake of Avalon and the Sidhe cured Arthur, perhaps there would be time enough for both of them to heal.

* * *

Then it was too late.

Morgana found them somehow. After chasing away the horses and then snarling at them, gloating about it all, she threatened them both with a long slow death.

It hurt to listen. He wanted to help her, even then; he'd hoped to redeem himself by bringing her back to the light but when she stood there over Arthur's body, spilling out her poison, she made him realise at last that there was nothing more Merlin could do. In her madness, she'd never let them live in peace. She wanted Arthur dead, wanted it more than power or honour or love.

So while she talked about watching Arthur die, laughing when Merlin threatened her with a sword, he stepped closer. With one thrust of Excalibur, taking on another guilty burden, he ended her life.

If things had been different, it might have been a relief. With her gone, there would be peace at last for Camelot.

But it didn't matter. Morgana had won.

Because the horses were gone and he had no way to get Arthur to Avalon in time.

* * *

Merlin was nothing if not stubborn. He would not let Arthur die, just because there was no way down, even if Arthur argued with him that they'd never make it.

Putting Arthur's arm around his shoulder, knowing that every movement was agony to him, Merlin began to walk, half-dragging him down toward the lake. Desperate. Desperate to reach it in time.

Arthur was growing pale, every breath seemed to weaken him and finally he'd had enough. Slipping out of Merlin's grasp, he sank to the soft grass and lay there, panting, his face twisted in agony. "It's no use, Merlin. I… it's no use."

Shaking his head, the fear that it might all fall apart shivering under his skin, Merlin knelt down beside him, tugging on Arthur's sleeve. His throat clogged with tears, he said, "You have to try. You have to…."

But Arthur just lay there, face white as a shroud, trying and failing to smile. His voice was weak, too, hardly moving the air as he said, "You have to listen to me. I'm your king."

"Never listened to you before." He pulled him closer, trying to lend Arthur the strength to go on but it was no use. "Please Arthur, don't give up. Please."

Arthur reached up, his gloved hand gentle against Merlin's cheek. "When I'm gone, don't let it change you. I want you to always be you."

Merlin was suddenly furious. He wouldn't let him die; it couldn't be the end of all they'd done together, all they were to each other. There was too much yet to do and the thought of doing it alone, of endless days without Arthur, terrified Merlin.

He said sharply, "No talk of going. The lake isn't far. I'll carry you."

Pulling at him again, he tried to lift him into his arms as he had done after Camlann, but Arthur just gave a sharp grunt, his face twisting in pain. Knowing that Arthur would sooner die than show weakness — and didn't that thought horrify him? — Merlin let him go.

"Enough, Merlin, enough." Arthur slumped down, boneless and fragile. "Just hold me."

"Stay with me." Merlin could feel the wrongness pulling Arthur towards unconscousness; the thread of life was growing thin, was stretching almost to the breaking point. "I won't let you go. I won't."

Desperate, he shouted up to the heavens, calling for the dragon one last time but still no answer. But it wasn't the end. He refused to accept that Arthur was taking his last breath, refused to allow death to pull him under.

Screaming that refusal into the sky.

"No!"

Rage building, building, without thought, he slapped the ground beside Arthur's body. A shockwave of power, blaze-bright, exploded outward. Wind thundered over him and up into the forest, a cyclone of destruction, with thick tree limbs snapping and a roar of shedding wood. The air itself filled with fire, rocks nearby crumbling into dust, the ground under him bucking like a frenzied thing. The sound of it all was deafening in an upheaval of anguish and fury.

If he had to feel such loss, then the world would feel it with him.

He bathed in it, the wild madness, an eternity roiling in anarchy and death. Letting it all go to hell, too afraid to look at Arthur and see his final moments, instead he was shrieking to the gods for some kind of miracle.

There was no reply.

Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer. With the chaos still raging above him, Merlin blinked away tears and looked down at the man to whom he'd given everything.

He wasn't moving. His king, his friend, was lying there, still. No breath, no pulse beating at his throat, no grimace of pain or helpless smile, no hand seeking his. No mocking retort, no calling him a girl one last time. Nothing.

Arthur was dead.

Throat raw from screaming, all Merlin could do was give a little sob and bend down and lay his head on Arthur's chest and rest there and wish that he'd died, too.

But he was not so lucky. Instead, he remembered all of his failures, knowing that they was his choices that had led to Arthur's death, and tried not to think of what to do next.

He didn't know how long he lay there, pressing himself into Arthur's unmoving corpse. In one small part of his mind not numbed with grief, he knew there was something wrong. Under his hand, Arthur's body was hard as stone, as unyielding as if he had been frozen in time.

When he could finally think beyond his anguish and try and wrap his head around it, he sat up, and taking one hand, pressed his palm into Arthur's chest. It didn't move. At all. And that couldn't be right. Someone who had just died would be malleable, soft to the touch.

He tried lifting up the chainmail, thinking to see if there was some kind of armour underneath that would keep the body from yielding, but the links resisted any attempt to move them. They, too, were as hard and unbending as if carved from a solid block of stone. As was Arthur's hand and his hair and the cloth of his trousers.  

Then it hit him. Arthur wasn't dead.

He was frozen in time.

Not dead, Arthur was not dead.

And Merlin could breathe again.

Realising that, in his torment, he must have instinctively pulled magic to him and pushed it away again, straight into Arthur's body, Merlin couldn't help but be thankful for it. When he was younger, stopping time had been an odd thing, not useful at all except maybe for rescuing his mum's clay pots when he'd knock them over, or playing silly games when he was bored.

But now, he'd given them more time to get to the lake and bargain with the Sidhe.

Arthur was not dead.

Around him, the storm quieted, the fires faded into grey smoke and there was silence.

Not dead.

Taking a deep breath, trying not to sob with pent-up grief, for a moment, he just knelt there, watching Arthur. Captured in an instant, he was alive, alive.

There was no time to waste. Merlin wasn't sure just how long the time-stilled moment would last, and on foot, the lake was hours away.

There was another problem, too, one that was ridiculous and would have made Merlin laugh if it weren't so dire. Laying there on the grass, Arthur was stiff as rock; caught in time, he was unable to bend or flex or relax in Merlin's arms. It would make things infinitely more difficult, but Merlin had come too far and wanted it too much to stop now.

With a great heave, he pulled Arthur up, then began to drag him down the slope toward the lake, one agonized step at a time. He went carefully. He didn't dare try to use magic to help ease his way down, make Arthur float or something. It would have made things so much easier but it might also restart time and Merlin wouldn't risk it. He wasn't willing to bet Arthur's life on something so frivolous.

So he kept going, making sure he didn't stumble or trip, making sure the branches hit him and not Arthur. It was a struggle and mostly he looked down, watching his step. But once, as he glanced back up the hill, he could see a wide band of burnt woods and a patch of bright grass in the middle of it all, a bulls-eye of green surrounded by a swath of destruction.

It was a fitting monument to Merlin's grief.

Then he turned his attention back to saving his king.


	3. Chapter 3

His heart was pounding, and out of breath with hauling Arthur down the slope toward the lake, at first Merlin didn't hear the sound of wings beating the air. But as he reached a small clearing in the woods, he looked up to see Kilgharrah at last flying toward him.

Furious, a large part of him wanted to punish the dragon for taking so long, wanted to throw magic at him and turn him into dust, wanted to seek retribution for all they'd gone through.

But he needed transport. He was willing to overlook anything if only it would get his Arthur to the lake in time.

Laying Arthur down in the soft grass, Merlin waited for Kilgharrah.

It took longer than he expected. The dragon was grey as ash when he landed and his breathing laboured. He looked old, far older than last time Merlin has seen him.

Wheezing, Kilgharrah said, "You summoned me, young warlock."

"Where have you been!? I needed you. Arthur is dying and you didn't come." Merlin stood there, trembling, his grief warring with rage. It took everything in him not to blast the dragon into bits of smoking meat.

If anything, Kilgharrah looked contrite. As he gazed down at Arthur, he gave a little shudder and then he turned back to Merlin. "When last we met, I warned you that I was nearing the end of my life. My strength even now ebbs." He let out another uncertain breath and Merlin could hear the heaviness there. "I came as soon as I was able."

As they stared at each other, the winded sound of illness harsh in the air, Merlin's anger slowly faded. Once he'd got past his blind fury, he could see that Kilgharrah was telling the truth. He was fading fast.

"I thought… you seemed fine last time. I thought it was just hyperbole, that you were getting older and needed to rest more. Not that you might… die."

Was there nothing that Merlin touched that didn't turn into ruin? Was he to have no one at all, no one to be with him, no one to understand? Yet even as it crossed his mind, he felt the shame of it. It was selfish of him to wish for comfort when two of the beings most important in his life were dying. "Forgive me, old friend. I was desperate."

"Yes, I can see it in your eyes." Kilgharrah nodded and there was pity there in the way he looked at Merlin. Then he gazed down at Arthur's frozen form. "Holding back time as you have done will not last long. Even with your great powers, Pendragon's life will fade quickly once he is released from your enchantment."

Nothing that he didn't already know but now that Kilgharrah was here, surely his magic would be able to heal Arthur. Merlin stepped toward the dragon, both hands reaching up to supplication, but Kilgharrah must have known what he was going to say. He shook his head. "I cannot help you. It is beyond even my abilities."

For a moment, Merlin couldn't breathe. After all they'd been through, and now to have no hope was almost more than he could bear. But he couldn't give up now; no matter what, he had to save Arthur.

"Mordred's sword was forged in a dragon's breath. You can fix it, I know you can." When there was only silence, Merlin turned away, stared down at Arthur's frozen body. Desperate, his throat clogged with unshed tears, he said, "Please, you have to try."

"Merlin, you defy fate in this." Kigharrah's voice was soft with sympathy. "It was his destiny to die at the druid's hands. To thwart that will take more magic than either of us possess."  

Tired of a destiny that only brought him grief, furious with a fate that left him in despair, he shook his head. He'd be damned if he'd accept it. He'd destroy the world first. And he had power enough to do it; he could feel it writhing in his chest even now.

If Kilgharrah could not or would not help him, at least Gaius had shown him the way. Gazing steadfast at the dragon, he said, "Will the Sidhe be able to help him?"

At first Kilgharrah looked startled. They had both had enough of the Sidhe over the years and to ask them for help would leave Merlin vulnerable to whatever demands they might make on his magic. But a moment later, he nodded. "They have great power. But there will be a price for his life."

"I will gladly pay whatever it is." Merlin meant every word; there was no price high enough that he would not pay to see Arthur whole again.

"I believe you would, young warlock." Kilgharrah stared down at him, troubled, frowning. "Your mother's life was the price last time. But the price may be higher still."

Merlin only shook his head. "Surely they would accept a warlock's sacrifice. My life for his."

"Perhaps. But do not hold out much hope, young one. They are a strange people and tricky with magic. And your dealings with the Sidhe over the years do not endear you to them."

That was an understatement. He'd killed Sidhe for Arthur, blasted them into nothingness, and he was sure they'd not forgotten nor forgiven him, no matter that Sophia and her father had been rogues to their kind. And thwarting the Sidhe king's plans with Princess Elena had only made things worse.

Yes, he knew he would not be welcome there but it didn't matter. If they were Arthur's last hope, then he'd give them whatever they wanted. He had no choice.  

"Whatever the cost, if only they save Arthur's life." He looked up, watched as the dragon took in another laboured breath. Kilgharrah had greyed further in the last few minutes and Merlin wasn't sure he'd last the day. So much death and yet he couldn't give up, not when they were so close. "Are you able… can you take us there?"

"I will try." Kilgharrah gave a little shudder then seemed to steady himself. With eyes full of grim determination, he said, "Climb upon my neck. I will hold Pendragon in my grasp as we fly."

* * *

Kilgharrah stumbled as he landed, coming down heavy. Catching himself in time, he lay Arthur down on the soft grass and then tottered back, gathering his wings about him and settling in.

All around them lay mist, shrouding everything but the tip of a monument high on the hill and the forest nearby; even the glint of water beyond the trees was subdued. It was quiet, too, only the faint sound of waves against a shore; there was no birdsong or a rustle of leaves, certainly no hum of blue-skinned Sidhe hovering around them. The dragon's laboured breathing was loud in the silence.

Merlin looked around, worried. "I thought they'd be here, waiting for us. At least protecting their territory or trying to scare us off. Do you think they sense….?"

Suddenly there was a sharp buzz in the air and a myriad of winged creatures were fluttering madly about his head.

The Sidhe had arrived.

"Please, I need your help." But they ignored him. Instead, they flitted in and out of his line of sight, hurling little shocks of power at him as they circled him. He tried not to flinch but it was a near thing. The assault was bearable but it did not portend well.

When he didn't move, their fury seemed to intensify, the buzzing growing to a fever pitch. If Merlin had been able to slow time, he might have understood what they were saying, but he didn't dare use his magic, not when Arthur was still time-trapped.

Kilgharrah was not so patient. Letting out a roar, he snarled, "Enough!" As he hobbled forward, he stretched out his wings, scattering the small Sidhe. They retreated, an angry ball of lights hovering just out of his reach. "Petty king, call off this foolishness before I lose my temper and roast the lot of you."

For a moment, silence was on a knife's edge.

Then it seemed to work. The largest of the Sidhe touched ground, and as he began to grow into something resembling a man, the others gave a collective growl of annoyance and scurried out of sight.

In another life, Merlin might have admired the translucent wings spread wide behind the Sidhe or the rich clothes but all he could see were red eyes and fury. Terrified of failing Arthur, knowing that this creature was his last hope, he sent a frown in Kilgharrah's direction and then turning back, bowed low before the king. "Please, I know you're angry but I need your help."

Ignoring him, the Sidhe twisted toward Kilgharrah and said, "I rule here, I, Gwynn ap LLudd, Bregu ap   Ynys Affalon, Elder of the Sidhe, not you. I have ruled long before you were born and will long after you have gone. Threats do not concern me, especially from an old dragon whose time is past." He straightened, his wings beating rapidly behind him. "I doubt you could garner enough strength for a candle's flame so don't try and intimidate me, old fool. The time for posturing is over."

Kilgharrah didn't seem to mind the insult. Breath wheezing heavy in the air, he suddenly spat out a man-sized fireball which flew high over Arthur's body and into the mists beyond. "Attacking the boy like that was beneath you, _Elder_. Perhaps you might listen to him."

As the two stared at each other, dragon and Sidhe, there seemed to be understanding between them. A moment later, with a sharp sniff of annoyance, Gwynn turned to Merlin. "What do you want, _boy_?"

"Please, Arthur… Arthur is hurt, he's dying." Glancing at Arthur to see if there was any change and finding none, he squared his shoulders. "I'll pay whatever you want, whatever it takes. Just save him before it's too late."

A heartbeat, another and the silence lengthened as the Sidhe stared down at Arthur. When he looked back up at Merlin, there was just the touch of regret in his voice. "It is already too late." Merlin stepped forward, started to protest but Gwynn ignored him. "We have long awaited his arrival. His soul will be admitted into Avalon."

He knew he should temper his replies, maybe flatter the creature, play the supplicant rather than be an adversary but he couldn't accept what the Sidhe was saying, not after all he and Arthur had been through together.

"No, I don't want him _admitted_. I want him to live."

Looking less than pleased, his wings fluttered rapidly behind him, his arms folded hard against him, Gwynn said, "And again your selfishness rules you. You should have thought of that before you betrayed your kind."

He felt as if he'd been punched. If he wasn't so worried about Arthur, he might have admitted that the Sidhe Elder had a point. He'd put Arthur ahead of everyone, and because of it, death and destruction followed in his wake, those who used magic gone from Camelot or executed. His dream of openly practicing magic lay in ruins and it was his fault.

But he pushed the guilt aside, said sharply, "I never...."

But Gwynn didn't seem to care about Merlin's excuses. "Is magic flourishing in Camelot once more? Do those with the gift live free or are they cowering in fear of being killed at any moment?" One hand swept downward, an accusing finger pointed straight at Arthur as he said, "We both know the answer. You have hidden in the dark, thought only of your king, while those around you paid the price for your choices."

He stood there, numb with shame. The Sidhe was speaking truth and Merlin knew it.

"You did nothing." Gwynn's eyes were bright red, his face filled with loathing. "The Druids are scattered or dead. Those with magical powers have been slaughtered. Even the high priestesses are no more. Their blood is on your hands. Do you deny it?"

People he'd known, people he'd not known, innocents and the guilty alike. Blood and more blood as he stood by and let it happen. Merlin felt ill, felt a fraud that he hadn't tried to do more for them, tried a different way. But then he thought of Morgana's hate-filled face, Mordred's lust for retribution. Shaking his head, he said, "They were trying to kill Arthur."

"Yes, but why? Was it because they saw no other way to help their people, your people?"

"All they wanted was revenge."

"In the end, those who seek revenge have nothing left to lose." The Sidhe Elder stood there, glaring at him, judging him. "But had you aided them, thought of your people instead of begging for scraps like a whining dog under Pendragon's foot, this ending might have been very different."

And with that, Merlin was wrenched sharply back into focus. He was there for Arthur. It didn't matter how much guilt he felt or the lives he'd ruined. He deal with that once Arthur was well again.

"That's not how it was. He's trying to be a fair and just king. He's trying all the time. He's getting better all the time."

"I only see magic suppressed and fear ruling the land."

Merlin could feel his chances slipping away; arguing with the Sidhe Elder had not worked and he was running out of time. Desperate, he stepped forward, knelt down before him, and bowing his head a moment, stared up into disdainful red eyes.

Keeping his voice low, pleading with everything he had in him, Merlin said, "Your Majesty, Sire, don't blame Arthur. It's not his fault but mine but he knows about my magic now. He's accepted it and if you just give him time, I'm sure he'll do the right thing. Don't punish him for my failings. He doesn't deserve to die just because of my mistakes. Please, let him live."

With that, Gwynn's wings stilled. He tilted his head, then looked off into the distance, out into the mist. All around them, there was quiet, nothing but the sound of water lapping against the shore and Kilgharrah's laboured breathing in the distance. There was a heaviness in the air, the world waiting, waiting.

Finally, turning back to Merlin, his face hinting at triumph, the Sidhe said, "The price will be high."

Merlin scrambled up, relief incandescent in his chest. "I don't care. Just help him. Please, let him live."

Slowly walking around Arthur's time-stilled body, his blue-tinged fingers painting ancient texts into the air, Gwynn seemed every inch a king as he said, "By Samhain, there must be a return of magic to Camelot. Acceptance for those with the gift. Homage to the Old Religion."

With every requirement, Merlin's heart lightened and he began breathing again. It would seem that the cost would not so high after all. "Yes, he will agree to that. I'll make sure of it. He'll listen to me. I talked him out of it once, I'm sure I can talk him into it this time, now that he knows about me and my magic."

But as he babbled his relief, Gwynn slowed and then stopped, staring at Merlin, the frown on the Sidhe's face deepening with every word. All around them, the darkness gathered, intensified.

"That is his price. Yours isn't so simple."

For a moment, Merlin could not believe what he was hearing. "What?"

A ball of light forming on Gwynn's palm, scenes of horror began to play out in its depths: blood spraying out as a head fell from the chopping block, faces full of silent screams, bodies flaming hot as they collapsed into the pyres, the corpses of children floating in a gore-filled lake, Uther's face triumphant as a young girl begged for mercy, Arthur's sword swinging down on a Druid's head, Merlin standing beside a tree doing nothing as a man's entrails spilled out.

Merlin had to look away. It was all too much, a stark reminder of a past he'd rather forget.

"You have betrayed your kind, warlock. Did you think you would not pay for it?"

So there would be a price after all. Turning back to Gwynn, Merlin lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, waiting for the blow. "Anything. Name it."

"In order to save a life, another must be sacrificed. You know this." The Sidhe Elder was watching him carefully but it didn't matter. Merlin had always known that his life was Arthur's. If his death would save him, then so be it. "Are you willing?"

Merlin looked down at Arthur, lying there so still, and a kind of peace settled on him at last. He'd once said that he was happy to be Arthur's servant until the day he died and it was still true. "As long as it's my life and mine alone, then yes. My life for his."

"A bargain struck." Gwynn began to rise, his wings beating against the air, and he grew smaller even as bright magic began to gather around him. "Merlin of Ealdor, your life for his."

And then there was blue fire limning the rocks, curling around leaves fluttering so slowly in the wind; grass was a dazzling blanket of light; even the trees glittered as though frosted with diamonds.

Merlin watched as a warm brilliance played across Arthur's face and hands, gently, gently, and then seemed to seep into his skin.

He could feel the change, watched as the shard of Mordred's blade slipped out. The deadly metal was a black blot in the light but then as it lay there on the ground, the blue luminescence surrounding Arthur grew and grew, until it would seem the whole world was filled with it.

It was too much.

When Merlin opened his eyes again, the light was gone but everything seemed fresher, cleaner. Above him, sunlight skimmed the mist and lit up the monument on the hill. Even the wind sighing in the trees was music, not warning.

What he felt in Arthur of wrongness since Camlann had disappeared; only the sweet air of healing remained. Arthur's wound was closed and his pale cheeks began to regain colour. He wasn't breathing, though, did not wake, did not stir.

"Once you lift the spell of eternal sleep, he will awaken." Gwynn was flying away, his work apparently done.

Merlin knew he had very little time left. All the things they still had to say to each other would never be said, not now. Calling after the Sidhe, he said, "Will I… can I say goodbye?"

Gwynn's voice echoed in the mist. "Make it quick."


	4. Chapter 4

Standing there a moment, staring down at Arthur, Merlin was numb. A small part of him, a very small part was dreading it all but mostly he was mourning the loss of what might have been.

Kilgharrah must have sensed something. He gave Merlin a little push, warm breath against his back.

Turning, Merlin reached up, patting the dragon's snout, the scales brittle under his hand. "I'm sorry, old friend. I always knew that I'd die in his service."

"Merlin, you do not have to do this. Arthur is…," Kilgharrah slowed a moment, his voice pained. "Arthur is the once and future king. He is supposed to die now so that he may return when Albion's need is greatest."

"The once and future…?" Merlin frowned at him, then glanced down at Arthur. "Albion needs him now, not tomorrow or next week or next year. Now. Do you think Albion will hold together without him when he's only just started?"

"You thwart his destiny in this." Kilgharrah stared down at him, looked disappointed.

Thinking about it, knowing that he was being selfish again but unable to let Arthur die for some vague promise of a golden future, Merlin said, "Destiny has always haunted us both. I won't yield to it now."

"Merlin…." Kilgharrah shook his head, then fell silent. They both knew that Merlin couldn't be talked out of it and so the dragon sat there, hunched, waiting.

"It's worth my life to see him well again." Merlin lifted his head, gave Kilgharrah's great snout a final pat. "Will you explain things to Gaius, make sure he looks after Arthur? The dollophead is meant for great things and I won't be there to keep him from … he can be really stubborn at times."

Kilgharrah frowned a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something more, perhaps talk Merlin out of it after all but instead he said, "It has been an honour to watch you grow into what you were destined to become."

"I'm sorry I couldn't…. I always thought I'd be there, that he'd forgive me and together we'd…." His vision blurred and he rubbed at his face, fingers coming away wet with tears. He looked down at his hands. He could almost hear Arthur calling him a girl in that annoying, teasing way of his but it was impossible, just his imagination.

Absently wiping his palms on his shirt, he looked up into sympathetic eyes. "Just watch over him."

Nodding, Kilgharrah said, "Until my last breath. Now, go to him, young warlock. Time runs short." And with that, he backed up, turned and hobbled away.

* * *

With that, Merlin fell to his knees beside Arthur. Gingerly, he picked up the shard of Mordred's sword and threw it off into the mist, toward the lake. In the silence, he could hear a soft plop and breathed a little easier for it.

Reaching out, following the lines of Arthur's face with his fingertips, he knew this was the last time he'd ever have with his beloved king. He'd never be able to tell him what he'd done for Arthur in all the years they'd known each other, never tell him of sacrifice or love or loss, never share a laugh again or tears.

And Arthur would never know just how much Merlin loved him.

Shaking off the melancholy, knowing that it was far too late for regrets, he took a deep breath and lifted his hand. Letting the magic gather around him and flow out into Arthur's still form, he began to chant. " _Abire_ _wyrgþe écnesse. Bregdan, Arthur, und leofae. Bregdan und leofae."_

With each word, Arthur's face grew warmer and his chest began to rise and fall. Giving a little groan, he lifted one hand to his head and then opening his eyes, he sat up so fast that he almost hit Merlin's nose. "Where? What happened? Merlin, where are we?"

Flailing backwards, landing on his arse, trying not to get hit as Arthur gestured past him and out toward the mist, Merlin couldn't help but feel euphoric. For a heartbeat, there was such joy that he could scarcely breathe for the wonder of it. It would seem that the whole world was tinged with a luminous warmth, of honey and bliss, of light and colour and golden delight. He wanted to kiss Arthur, wrap himself around his king and never let go.

Instead, he surged forward, began to press against the now-healed wound. "Arthur, how do you feel? Is it hurting…?"

With that, Arthur looked down, gazing at Merlin's hands entangled in chainmail and cloth, and pushed them hurriedly away. He poked at his side, looking for blood and festering gore and finding none. Staring at the healed skin where red has once spilled out, he gave a sharp laugh. "What did you do? Did you use your magic on me? It feels better already."

The euphoria ebbed out of Merlin, like the last hurried grains of sand in an hourglass. Sitting back down again, letting the rising exhaustion wash over him, he tried to smile at Arthur. He was happy for his beloved king's recovery, jubilant really, and besides, he already knew the price. He just hoped he might have had more time.

Arthur wasn't fooled. Frowning, gazing at Merlin with rising concern, he said, "You don't look so good. What happened?"

"We reached Avalon in time and the Sidhe agreed to help you." Swallowing hard, Merlin was finding it difficult to breath. Pressing one hand against his heart, then realising how it might look, he deliberately placed his fingers across his knee. He tried to flash Arthur a quick grin, hoping to hide his discomfort, but even that seemed to be too much effort. "I need to… I need to… oh."

"Merlin, what's wrong? You are white as a sheet." He didn't remember moving but when he looked up, he was half-leaning on Arthur, rough chainmail scratching at his cheek.

Arthur was shaking him and it would have been annoying but Merlin could see the worry in his eyes. He tried to push Arthur away, but there were arms that couldn't quite move and he just slumped back against him. He couldn't admit, at least to Arthur, that it felt good, felt right to be there by his side, like always. He'd just mock Merlin for it.

"Merlin, you idiot, what have you done?" Arthur gave him another shake, harder this time.

"Only what I had to do."

For a moment, his beloved idiot king didn't seem to understand, just looked down at him, frowning. Then it must have hit him. His eyes widened and his hands tightened around Merlin's shirt.

"You didn't… what price did they ask for saving me?" Arthur sounded angry.

Merlin couldn't blame him. When Arthur drank poison for him on that day in Gedref and he almost died, Merlin had been furious with the prat; he'd had nightmares about it for months afterwards. Still, he'd risk Arthur's anger if it meant he would live. And if the cost was Merlin's life, so be it.

"A price I was glad to pay." Defiant, he lifted his chin a little, and gazing steadily at Arthur, he said, "A life for a life."

"No, no, no." Pulling away, Arthur sat up a bit, then wrapped both hands around Merlin's arms, gripping him almost painfully. Face flushed, he looked absolutely livid. "No, you don't get to sacrifice yourself again. Not for me."

"Always for you, my king."

Merlin slumped forward, following Arthur's body like a flower to sunshine; he couldn't quite sink into him, not with Arthur still holding Merlin's arms so tightly but he could lay his forehead on Arthur's chest and rest there.

Rest sounded good. Resting in Arthur's warmth and sleep sounded better. He could feel the siren-call of it, the weariness growing, the ache to let it all go. But he had one last task.

A quick smile at the memories, at all the things they had shared in the time — too short — they'd had, he began to slide down into Arthur's arms as his king let him go. Cradled just as he'd once held Arthur, half an embrace, half across Arthur's lap, he looked up to see horrified eyes and the beginnings of tears.

Reaching out, grasping Arthur's palm and holding it to his chest, Merlin struggled to push back the exhaustion. He had to make sure Arthur understood or else all of this, the pain, the sacrifice, the loss, would be in vain. Forcing himself to stay awake just a little longer, he said, "Just… there's… they wanted a promise that you would bring back magic. I said… I said you would. Honour the Old Religion, too. It… it isn't hard. You can ask… Gaius about it."

"You can tell me yourself." Arthur was shaking his head, a constant no, no, no and then, as if trying to convince himself as much as Merlin, he said with absolute certainty, "When they've healed you."

But nothing changed, nothing but Merlin sinking deeper into his arms, and Arthur looked up, shouted out, "Sidhe, Sidhe, show yourself!"

"That's not how it works." Through the tiredness, Merlin realised that he was drifting. He blinked a moment, gathering his strength, knowing he had very little time left. Clutching at Arthur's hand, he said, "Promise me, Arthur… please. Bring back… magic. It's my… fault you didn't… know how… beautiful it can… be."

There was roughness there in Arthur's voice and fury, too. "Don't do this."

"Promise me." He had to make sure Arthur would agree to it or it would all be for nothing. "Promise me."

Some of his desperation must have got through to Arthur because he stilled, looked down at Merlin. There were tears on Arthur's cheek but he didn't seem to notice, just said, "I promise but only if you are there to rabbit on about it, like you always do." He threw his head back, shouted out into the mist, as frantic as Merlin had ever heard him, "Sidhe, help him!"

"They won't come." Arthur stiffened, turned back toward him. Merlin reached up to brush at the tear tracks, gently, shyly, knowing that Arthur would have mocked him if things weren't so dire but he didn't care. It was the last chance he'd ever have to tell Arthur how he felt. One final chance. "It's okay…, it's okay. I said I'd be your servant." It took a moment; Merlin was already breathless and growing more so by the moment. "Until the day I die. I promised… you that…, remember?"

It was a miracle that Arthur wasn't pushing his hand away, was letting Merlin stroke his face and wipe away the tears. But Arthur seemed to lean into his touch even while he said, "Don't be an idiot. You are not going to die."

Arthur was always one for denial, until it punched him in the face. But it was clear that denial wasn't going to work, not this time.

Merlin felt dizzy and there was pressure inside, as if his heart was having a hard time trying to beat. Pain, too, skittered across his skin but it was distant, muted. He was so tired that he could hear himself slurring the words as he said, "I was… I was supposed to show you… how magic can be used… for good. Please, I don't want to… I ruined… every…thing."

Letting his hand drop, he tried to smile but it was too much of an effort. Instead, he watched Arthur's face, absorbing the lines and beauty of it, the curl of golden hair, blue eyes cloudy with grief; of everything, he wanted his last moments to be with Arthur. Now and always.

"Merlin, you didn't ruin anything." Arthur was grasping at him, hands busy with desperation, trying to find a way to fix it all. "Don't leave me. I promise I'll try."

A promise that Arthur would keep. It was all Merlin could ask for in the last moments of his life.

Still, he gathered enough strength to lay one hand over Arthur's own. He knew there wasn't time for more. Arthur would never know just how much he was loved. Merlin could only hope that Arthur would fathom it out eventually, after grief faded and only happy memories remained.

Weakened, his heart slowing, slowing, he had one final goodbye.

"My life has always been… yours, Arthur. I… wouldn't… change… it…for…."

Vision blurring, greying around the edges, darkening until there was only blackness. Muffled noises, sobs or pleading, were quiet against his hair. His heartbeat stuttered once, twice, a single breath in his throat, and then as he sunk down into the abyss, he could hear Arthur shouting.

"Merlin, no!"

And then there was nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

When he woke, the ground under his back was cold. Wet bits of grass or leaves, prickled at his hand; there was something sharp stabbing him just at the base of his spine. He groaned a bit and tried to roll away, instinctively trying to get comfortable, all the while his mind still blurred with the nightmarish impossibility of Arthur dying in his arms.

Merlin lay there a while, unsure of where he was or what he was doing. The horror of Arthur's last words, of thanking Merlin with his dying breath, was an ever-present pain deep in his chest but it felt strange, though, odd, as if it were a falsehood painted over glass or a memory of a vision that never came true.

Not knowing what to think, growing more confused even as his vision cleared, he sat up and looked around.

Behind him, a monolith, the stone more than thrice a man's height, stood against the cloudy sky. The carvings on it, mossy with age, looked to be of gods and myth, the ancient writing so worn that they seemed to melt into each other, unreadable. But the symbols of magic, damaged though they were, still gleamed faintly in the light.

If he didn't know better, Merlin would have thought it the monument he'd seen earlier when he'd brought Arthur to Avalon.

Dotting the hillside were other stones, battered, wearing their age in lichen and broken edges as they lay in the waist-high grass. There was a pattern there, although Merlin could not quite make it out but it seemed as if they'd once stood in circles around the larger stone. It felt like a place of power, deserted though it might be.

Beyond, down the hill, grass gave way to cool mists and dark woods.

It was silent as a grave. There was no movement, no bird-song, no wind, no one nearby to explain what had happened and why he was there. At least the rock that had been jabbing into his back was no longer a torment.

Nothing made sense.

But as he sat there, rubbing at his chest, trying to massage away the aching grief, he noticed something else. He wasn't in his normal clothes, no scarf, no worn jacket, no falling-apart boots held together with luck and cast-off buckles, nothing that he recognised. Instead, it seemed more what a Druid would wear or an elder of the tribe. The tunic was embroidered at wrists and collar with symbols of magic, triskelions intertwined with a labyrinth of leaves. Too rich for him, certainly not something he could wear into Camelot; there would be too many questions and if nothing else, Arthur would mock him endlessly for it.  

When he pulled at his sleeves, he realised that his wrists and forearms were marked, too, with signs of power. And yanking the tunic down a bit, over his heart, there was another triskelion. The symbols wouldn't come off, either, no matter how much he tried.

And when he ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he'd never managed to curb no matter how much his mother had admonished him for it, it felt longer. And his face was odd, rougher and he had a short beard, too.

What the hell had happened? How long had he laid there unconscious? Days, weeks, months? Years?

The question was why, why dress him like that, mark him like that? Why let him wake in such a place and after so long?

Trying not to panic, he sat there a moment, thinking of what it would all mean.

He never expected to live past his sacrifice, never expected to feel his heart beating, beating, never expected to see Arthur again, never to joke with the clotpole or protect him or love him as only Merlin could.

Merlin had let go in the end, for Arthur, and he'd died for it.

Then it hit him. That wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He'd _died_ in Arthur's arms. He'd died to save his best friend, his king, and yet now he was awake, with his heart pounding, grieving and alive.

The Sidhe had taken his life, however willingly given. Now, if they'd rejected his sacrifice and let him live, what would that mean for Arthur? Would the Sidhe go back on their word? Would they let Arthur die?

After all this time, had it been all for nothing?

With that thought clawing at him, he scrambled up, looking around. He'd have to find Arthur, or at the very least the Sidhe Elder, and demand to know what was going on.

But he didn't know where he was. There was no path, no familiar landmarks, just ancient stones, a forest that seemed endless, and swirling mists that obscured whatever might lie beyond.

Even so, he took a few steps, desperate to begin his search, then stopped. The panic gripping him was making him react like the idiot Arthur always accused him of being. Better to think first than to go tearing off, to run in some random direction that might take him further away from his goal.

After taking a few deep breaths, he felt calmer, more in control. Knowing that he couldn't possibly rely on mere sight, he gathered himself together, lifted one hand, and blew into it. " _Léoht,_ _Abeþece_ _hine._ _Abeþece Arthur._ "

A spark, growing brighter, expanding to fill his palm with brilliance and then it bounced up and around past one stone and another, then circling, circling the monolith until it finally flew off down into the mists, leaving a glowing trail to follow.

Shaking his head, he realised that he had been heading in the wrong direction after all in those first few steps. At least he knew now where he was going, but there was no time to lose.

Stepping gingerly past the standing stone, every sense alert for trouble, Merlin began to run.

* * *

It felt like he'd been traveling for hours. At least he knew he wasn't dead, not after tripping over a large root and gouging a bit of skin out of his palm. Apparently he'd lost none of his painful clumsiness. And he was hungry and thirsty.

But that didn't matter. He'd not found Arthur yet and it was getting late.

He'd tried over and over to summon the dragon for help but considering how badly Kilgharrah looked last time he saw him Merlin wasn't surprised when he didn't show up. He was getting worried, though. Surely Avalon wasn't that large. He must have covered miles.

His luck changed when he broke through the last bit of forest and found himself back near the water's edge. As the trail of light he'd been following veered off to the left and faded into nothingness, for a moment, he felt at a loss for what to do next. He'd expected the magic to bring him back to Arthur but instead, he'd stumbled into a gathering of Sidhe.

Floating above the lake, little sparks of brilliance were darting here and there, fluttering past branches and alighting on rocks near the shoreline; they looked playful and carefree and seemed to be completely unaware of him.

His first instinct was to hide but that wouldn't help him find Arthur or confront the Elder. So he stepped out beyond the trees and waited.

There was a sharp alarmed buzz when he was spotted. Merlin expected them to attack him again but instead, they gathered together, and flew off into the mist. Apparently, Kilgharrah's threats to them must have taken hold. But that wouldn't help him if he couldn’t find someone high up in the Sidhe hierarchy to explain just what was going on.

He needed answers. He needed to find out where Arthur was and if he was alive.

"Show yourself. I know you are lurking out there somewhere. Come out and face me or I will unleash a power such as you have never seen."

For a moment, there was silence as if the world were holding its collective breath.

Then from behind him, there was a chuckle, heavy with mockery. "Boy, you have no idea of power."

Merlin spun around, one hand up, ready to do battle if necessary. He'd defeated priestesses of the Old Religion, Nimeuh and Morgause and Morgana, killed countless others in his quest to keep Arthur safe, and he'd be damned if he let a Sidhe get the better of him.

"Where is he?" Merlin was done with playing games. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

Gwynn's smile seemed more predatory than amused. "He's safe enough." With a careless flick of his fingers, he gestured towards where Merlin's light trail had disappeared, then smile growing wider, staring pointedly at Merlin, he said, "Mourning the death of his friend."

Letting out the breath that he hadn't realised he was holding, Merlin lowered his hand, slumped in relief. "Then he is alive."

"Of course. That was our bargain after all." Alighting on the grass, as he grew to human size, folding his wings back as he did so, Gwynn said, "Did you think we would go back on our word? Lie to you as easily as humans do?"

"Forgive me if I'd think just that. After all, I awoke in a place of power when I never expected to wake at all." Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice. "And how long has it been since you took my life?"

"A few hours." Gwynn shrugged.

"Hours? I thought… with the beard and longer hair, I…." Merlin shook off his dread. At least it hadn’t been years since he'd died but none of it made sense. Why change him at all? "What have you done?"

"We took what you offered, boy. And now you accuse us of lies. That is irony itself, this from a sorcerer who speaks lies as easily as he breathes."

Merlin lifted his chin, hardened his eyes. "The Sidhe are not known for trustworthiness. I've heard stories and I've seen you in action enough to be wary. After all, two of your own, Sophia and Aulfric of Tia-mor, tried to drown Arthur and used lies and enchantments to get their way. Should I expect any differently from you?"

"Speak not of them. They stain the name of Sidhe." Gwynn had the temerity to look offended at the suggestion but Merlin wasn't fooled. Their reputation for double-dealing and falsehoods was well-deserved.

"Where is he?"

"He is near enough. You made a bargain, warlock, or have you forgotten so quickly?" Merlin scowled at that. If Arthur was alive, then he'd be damned if he'd let the Sidhe keep them apart. But Gwynn wasn't finished. "You insult us with your contempt. We kept our end of the agreement. Will you not keep yours?"

"I said I would and I will. Without your help, Arthur would have died, and for that I will always be grateful." He tried to sound contrite. After all, they'd done what he asked when they could have turned him away. It was just that there was something more that remained unspoken. He could feel it in the shiver of dread stealing up his spine and the way his heart was beating hard in his chest.

He didn't want to ask, didn't want to push it, but he had to know just what the price truly was. The Sidhe would not have given him such a gift for thanks alone. "If my death wasn't enough, what then do you want?"

"We told you. It is obvious." Gwynn snapped, looking at him as if he were addled in the head. "It is vital that magic regain its former place in the world, that balance is restored. It has been too long suppressed by Pendragon's hatred."

That didn't make sense. Killing off the one person that Arthur might have listened to about magic wasn't exactly a sound idea, and that just made him more confused.

"If that's all you wanted, I can talk to Arthur. I'll make sure he'll see reason. Besides, he promised he would and he keeps his word."

Red eyes bright with anger, Gwynn said, "The _last_ Pendragon promised to honour the Old Religion. Then he turned around and slaughtered women and children by the hundreds. Cut off their heads or burned them or drowned them like vermin."

His wings beating fury against his back, he began to slowly walk toward Merlin, glaring all the while into Merlin's ashamed face. "The _last_ Pendragon forced the Dragonlords to call their dragons to their deaths, annihilating all but one. And then he promised them, giving his solemn oath that he would leave Kilgharrah alone. A Pendragon oath that he broke in the next breath. Chaining up the last of the dragons in darkness like some kind of twisted trophy. And then he turned around and slaughtered the Dragonlords. Only by the slimmest of threads did the last one escape. And while he was living like a hunted animal, Pendragon scoured his kingdom for more innocents and bathed in their blood, rejoiced in their pleas for mercy even as he murdered them."

He stopped in front of Merlin, stood there, almost daring him to say something but as Merlin swallowed hard and began to protest, Gwynn cut him off, "So do not tell me, boy, of Pendragon promises. We have seen it all before."

Merlin bowed his head a moment. What the Elder had said was true and he couldn’t deny it, even if he wanted to. But more was at stake than remembering past atrocities; Arthur's life was in the balance.

"Arthur isn't like that. He keeps his word."

"When it suits him. When magic is not involved." Gwynn shoved his face forward until he was but a hair's breadth away from Merlin's. "We have not forgotten his part in the slaughter of innocents."

Jerking back, Merlin said, "He's acknowledged his guilt and he's been trying to make up for it ever since. He's been treating the Druids fairly. He's honoured his word to them to leave them alone. And the last few times he was attacked with magic, he judged those who tried to harm him for the action, not for the magic."

"And that is one of the reasons why we agreed to help you." The Sidhe nodded off into the distance and then turned to Merlin. "You are the other."

"Me?" Merlin shook his head. "You made me think that I was trading my life for his. You said it was punishment for crimes you think I've committed. And yet here I am. I don't…."

"No, you don't. Because you are not here. Or rather Merlin is not here." Gwynn gave him a little smile, smug and chilling. "Merlin is dead."

With that, Merlin stopped breathing. If he was dead, was this some form of the underworld? Forever lost in the mists or trapped, taunted by beings who thought him a traitor? He didn't feel any different, felt pain and grief as much as he ever did but he had no idea what was truly beyond the veil; it was all uncharted territory.

"How can I be dead when I'm here? I'm seeing you and feeling pain and… is this what it means to be dead after all? To be tormented forever with remorse? To know that it was all your fault and you can't do anything to change it?" When the Elder just stood there watching him with unsympathetic eyes, Merlin said, "Am I truly dead?"

"In a manner of speaking." Gwynn stepped back, folding his arms across his chest and said, "Merlin is dead. But Emrys is not."

That didn't make sense. Merlin _was_ Emrys or so he'd been told often enough by the Druids. How could he be dead and Emrys alive?

"I don't understand. As far as I know, Emrys is just something they called me, I have no idea why and the Druids never said exactly what it meant. But they always thought that I was Emrys so…." Merlin frowned at it, trying to wrap his head around it all. "Or is it someone else and I'm really dead?"

"It is clear that magical ability does not require intellectual skills." It was almost as if the Sidhe Elder was taunting him.

Merlin wasn't having any of it. "When you talk in riddles, don't expect understanding. I prefer a straight answer to all this posturing."

Gwynn's smug smile turned into malice. "Very well, I will give you a straight answer that even a human could comprehend." When Merlin didn't rise to the bait, the Sidhe shrugged and abandoned whatever game he was playing. "Merlin will be mourned, I have no doubt, by those you love. But as Emrys, you will help your people regain their rightful place and have magic return to the land."

"But… surely when they see me again, they'll know me. Certainly Gaius will and the Druid leaders, too. No matter what you call me, Emrys or Merlin, I'll still be me." He wanted to shake the Sidhe and make Gwynn tell him just what was going on. It was like talking to the dragon when he was being particularly obtuse.

"But they will not see you, Merlin. They will see Emrys, a man worn by time, with Druidic symbols on his body and power in his eyes."

For a moment, he just gaped at the Sidhe. That would explain the marks on his skin and the longer hair and beard. Shaking with dread, pushing up the sleeves of his tunic, he looked down at his forearms. The symbols there were stark against his skin, and as he stared at them, they seemed to gather magic into lines and ciphers, pulsing with every beat of his heart. It was an enchantment of transformation, a strong one, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to break it.

"What have you done?"

Gwynn tilted his head, staring at him, then nodded as if satisfied. "Merely unlocked the magic within you."

"But why? I would have done what you asked. Arthur was already half-way there to bringing back magic to Camelot on our journey here. You didn't need to do this." He couldn't keep the horror out of his voice. Whatever Gwynn thought, Merlin knew that Arthur would have allowed magic back in time, especially after all they had been through together.

"And why should we trust your word any more than we trust the word of a Pendragon?"

He sounded almost amused, as if Gwynn didn't care what the answer would be, that it meant little to him. But the way he looked at Merlin told a different story. It was fraught with judgment, staring at Merlin with such utter contempt that he shivered; winter, ice-hard, had come to Avalon in that unblinking gaze. "You are unworthy, a liar, someone willing to let others with magical abilities die in order to keep your king alive." He smiled, then, full of scorn. "Must I list every instance for you to understand?"

There was nothing Merlin could say. He _had_ lied; most of his life had been spent hiding and lying, trying to keep his gifts a secret, and others had died for it. He couldn't deny it, even if he wanted to.

"No protest? No excuses?" Nodding at Merlin's silence, Gwynn said, "Well, that is at least a beginning. As to the ending…, Merlin had to die. Before it was too late."

"But it's not too late." Shaking his head, Merlin said, "You want him to bring back magic but I can tell you right now that he won't listen to some strange sorcerer, not after this. He barely listened to me before but this, he'll never…. Change me back. I'm sure I can get him to do what you want. I know I can do it but only if he sees me as I am, as Merlin."

"We know you, Emrys." The Sidhe Elder stood there, as immovable as stone. "If we had let Merlin live, the moment you left Avalon, you would have slipped back into your old ways, hiding beneath smiles and fear, telling Arthur anything in order to keep him close and we would have been left with nothing." He took a step closer, looming over Merlin, and with the flat, dead tones of finality, he said, "You have no choice. Do what you need to do but bring magic back to Camelot or he will pay the penalty."

Frustrated beyond measure, Merlin said, "Not like this."

"Then he dies."

Gwynn's wings began to beat, and as he rose up into the air, he said, "One more thing, Emrys." Glaring down at Merlin, the Elder shook his head, contempt in his gaze. "You are transparent as glass. We know you would tell us what we want to hear and then you would confess everything to your king as soon as you leave this place."

Merlin started to object — he had been thinking of doing just that once they'd left Avalon — but Gwynn cut him off. "Do so at his peril. For if you ever tell him that you were once Merlin, he, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, will die. Immediately. And there will be no second chances for either of you."

Floating there, hovering just beyond Merlin's reach, growing smaller and smaller with every word, he said, "Your old life is over. Learn to make a new one."

With that, Gwynn ap LLudd, Elder of the Sidhe turned back into a glowing ball of light and flew off into the mists.

And Merlin was alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Wanting to cry or rage or deny everything he'd been told, instead he just stood there and watched the water lapping at the rocks. He felt numb, confused, furious. Told to make a new life but how could he do that when his life had been Arthur's from the day they met?

Were they even telling the truth? Was Arthur alive or was this some kind of sick game that they were playing in revenge for what he'd done to the Sidhe over the years? They were tricksters after all. But still, could he even defy them? If Arthur's life was in the balance, could he take the risk? Would he?

He must have stood there for a lifetime. When he finally blinked and looked down at his pained wrists, he realised that he'd been trying to rub off the marks all that time. His skin was roughened, almost raw, bleeding in spots where his nails had dug into his flesh but the symbols remained, untouched.

In that moment, he knew he was trapped. As surely as if they'd really taken his life. Trapped by promises, trapped by fear, trapped by destiny.

Shaking off the increasing frustration, he knew he needed to find out just how much of what they said was true. And if — when he found out that Arthur was alive, then he'd figure out what to do. Until then, all this worry was just making him confused.

Arthur had to be his first priority.

With that, he started off again towards the place where the trail of light he'd conjured had indicated Arthur might be. Walking along the lake shore, picking his way carefully through the woods, the mist rising out of the water glowed faintly in the moonlight and it gave him enough light to see.

For a while, the Sidhe had distracted him with their threats and portends but now he would not be diverted again.

But as he walked toward whatever fate had handed him, his thoughts returned to Gwynn's dire warnings. A new life. It didn't make sense at all. They must have known that he would be in a much better position to get Arthur to change the magic laws as Merlin — unless they really didn't trust him to do it.

To his shame, they had a point. Arthur had always come first, and even now his focus was on making sure Arthur was alright, not that magic would be brought back, or that others would be safe, but that his friend, his king lived.

Was this really about punishing Merlin for his transgressions or was it about making sure he couldn't slip back into old habits?

He couldn't get the thought out of his head. He was still mulling it over when he turned the corner to find Arthur about to light a pyre.

For one brief moment, his joy was incandescent.

Arthur was alive. The Sidhe hadn't lied.

Arthur looked drawn and unhappy, his eyes, even at this distance, reddened with misery. But alive, and for that, Merlin was almost ecstatic with relief.

Merlin's first thought was to run to him, to give him the hug that Arthur always denied wanting but always clung to when given half a chance, to babble his elation with nonsense words and laughter and tears.

Then he remembered the Sidhe's warning. One slip and it would all be for nothing. He couldn't risk it, not after all they've been through. Arthur's life was worth more than Merlin's happiness. A momentary weakness, no matter how much he might want it, could destroy everything.

Besides he wasn't sure just how Arthur would greet him, would react to him wearing a stranger's face, or if he'd even let him get close. Would he know Merlin anyway, no matter what the transformation, or would he pull out Excalibur and threaten him, looking at him only as someone of magic and therefore not to be trusted? On an island full of sorcery, surrounded by the very thing that he'd been brought up to fear, hurting and alone, Arthur might react first and ask questions later.

He couldn't risk it, not now, perhaps not ever.

Drawing back behind the trees, his heart heavy as lead, Merlin watched his king mourning from afar.

The pyre was already growing higher, the flames licking at a body placed on top. The dead man was black-haired, covered in a worn brown jacket all too familiar and wearing boots with too many buckles. He looked like… Merlin hadn't thought it possible but the body looked like Merlin.

How the Sidhe had managed to find a corpse similar enough to fool Arthur into thinking it was him was unbelievable - or perhaps not. They were capable of many things, even transforming one thing into another. It might not be a body at all, merely a spell to trick the eye.

They were clever, too, understanding more than they would seem. They must have known that if Merlin's body disappeared once he had died, Arthur would have thought it a trick and would never have stopped looking for him.

But giving his body to the flames would placate Arthur, would make him think that Merlin was truly gone. And he would be highly suspicious of anyone who looked or claimed to be Merlin if he suddenly showed up in Camelot, alive, smiling, eager for a joyous reunion.

Yes, the Sidhe had planned it well.

But none of it seemed to matter to Arthur. Standing there, he looked shattered, as if watching Merlin burn was killing him, too.

Hurting just to see it, Merlin wanted so much to comfort Arthur that it was almost a physical ache. But all he could do was stand there and watch as Arthur stared into the fire, clutching Merlin's ragged neckerchief to his chest, tears streaking his face.

For a while it was quiet enough, just the crackle of flames destroying what was left of Merlin's image and the sputter-hiss of logs giving in to the heat. Arthur was silent, except for the occasional hitched breath.

But then he gave a little shudder. Wiping at his eyes, sounding both furious and devastated, Arthur said, "You are an idiot, you know. I told you that often enough and this just confirms it. You had no right to give up your life for mine, not without asking my permission first. I'm your king and you are supposed to do what I say, not just any damn thing your thick, confused cabbage-head comes up with."

Still clutching the scarf against his chest, looking as if he didn't dare let it go for fear of losing it, nevertheless something changed. He began pacing back and forth, his other hand clenched into a fist, punching at the air, and once in a while, he'd kick out at whatever still-burning log dared to cross his path.

"I'm furious with you, leaving me like this. I can't even shout at you for lying to me for all those years." Another log, another swift kick and it tumbled off into the grass, smouldering. Arthur looked at it for a moment, scowling, shaking his head in infuriated disbelief. "Yes, I understand it but I don't, not really. How you could look at me and lie to me so easily. And I was the damn fool who believed every stupid thing you ever told me. How you must have laughed every time I fell for it. What an idiot I was. To believe you."

Arthur stopped pacing, stared into the fire, watching whatever was left of the body fall into the coals and disappear. Even from Merlin's vantage point, he could see Arthur's jaw working and the scowl on his face was bitter-sharp.

"I want you back so that I can yell at you and scream and punch you in your stupid face for the lying and then throw you in the dungeons for a year. Not for the magic — although what were you thinking? You’ve seen how magic destroys everything it touches. But the lying. Yeah, lying to me like that hurts like hell.”

Pausing, he closed his eyes a moment, then staring back into the flames, endless regret in his eyes. “As for everything else, I want you back so that I can give you that hug that you always wanted and I could never allow myself to give before."

Shaking his head, wiping absentmindedly at his face, Arthur said, "Because you were an idiot and so was I and between us, we made a pair of them." He huddled inward then, shoulders slumping in defeat, and as he looked down at Merlin's scarf clutched in his fist, he whispered, "We made a pair."

Merlin couldn't stand it. To see Arthur in so much pain was almost too much. He had to do something before his heart broke all over again.

But before he could step forward out of the shadows, a tiny voice echoed in his head, sounding like remarkably like Gwynn's. " _Must you fail your people in the first hour, Emrys?"_

Merlin hissed out, "He's in pain."

_"And we have been in pain for decades."_ Even as a disembodied voice, the Sidhe were not above threats. _"Choose wisely, Emrys. His life hangs by a thread."_

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to go to Arthur; everything in him was pushing forward, urging him to take that first step, to be whatever Arthur needed him to be. But he couldn't. He couldn't do that.

With tears strangling his throat, he stumbled away, then turned and fled.

He didn't look back.


	7. Chapter 7

He didn't know where he was. Somewhere on Avalon but after grief blurred his vision, his mind numb with impossible choices, he lost his way in the moon-lit night.

It didn't matter, though.

In many ways, a body can only take so much before it shuts down. Merlin had learned that early in life. Ealdor winters had been hard and sometimes the struggle so great that the weakest of the villagers wouldn't last until spring.

The lesson had been reinforced once he'd come to Camelot. There were times when things were so dire with Uther and his insane need to destroy magic or else plagues and relentless enemies hounding them that Merlin would struggle to put on a smiling face when all he wanted to do was lash out or hide, shivering under his bed covers.

Worst of all had been when he'd killed someone with magic or sword-fighting, it didn't matter, and he couldn't wash off the blood. His hands would be stained for days, little bits of gore under his fingernails, and no matter how much he scrubbed, it wouldn't come out.

Gaius knew enough to talk gently on those days, giving him small treats or trying — failing — to teach him something of herb lore or a new healing technique. Anything to turn Merlin's mind from the horrors of what he'd done.

Merlin got better over the years, better or else more used to dealing in death, but there were times when it all became too much and he'd drown himself in mead. Gaius's excuses to Arthur about the tavern weren't always untrue.

He needed mead now. He needed something so mind-numbing that he could bury himself in it and never come out again.

But he kept going anyway. There was no alcohol anywhere within miles of the place and besides, he had to start thinking about what to do next. Or not. The choices he'd made so far hadn't been the best after all. Perhaps not thinking was really the wisest course of action.

Merlin did wonder about where Kilgharrah had gone. He'd been calling to him for a while, then gave up after seeing Arthur. Not wanting to be lectured on what he should or should not do, Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to see the dragon; he'd have to face him sometime but the exhaustion of dealing with cryptic answers was beyond him at the moment.

Fate wasn't a kind mistress, though, because as he came around the hill, stumbling about, trying to decide if he should find a place to rest for the night, a cave or hollow tree, or just keep moving, he tripped over one of Kilgharrah's claws and fell. His scored hand stung as he hit the ground.

As the dragon breathed out a faint wheeze of annoyance, he opened one eye and stared a moment at Merlin.

Not sure if he was recognised or not, Merlin sat up, dusted himself off and struggled to his feet. He was about to explain when, in a soft, tired voice, Kilgharrah said, "Emrys."

Obviously dragons didn't see that well in the dark. Well, at least there was one damn thing he could do right. Merlin opened his hand and said, " _Léohte._ "

As the soft light hovered there, cool and beautiful, Merlin could see that the dragon had tucked himself into the hillside as if trying to gather strength from the stones themselves. Most of his bulk hidden, perhaps by a large overhang or even a cavern dug into the rock, he lay there, hunched, death-pale.

It was clear even in the semi-darkness, Kilgharrah had sickened further. No wonder he hadn't answered Merlin's call.

"What can I do? Healing is not my strength but anything you need." He stepped closer, the light following him.

Kilgharrah took an unsteadied breath. "Too late, Emrys."

Even now, the name grated. He tried to soften his frustration. "I'm Merlin. I know I look like someone else… or rather I can feel the differences but I'm Merlin." He was close enough and he reached out, stroking the cool skin. The dragon leaned in, seeming to gather comfort from Merlin's gentle touch. "I'm Merlin. I'm not dead. The Sidhe tricked us all."

Surprisingly, Kilgharrah didn't seem the least bit upset about all the lies the Sidhe had told. Instead, he lay his head back down, giving a slight smile as he blinked at Merlin. "A second chance. A gift… beyond price."

That didn't make sense. It was a trick, punishment, not a gift.

"They deceived us, and now Arthur is alone and I don't know what to do." Tears pricking at his eyes again, his hands shaking from fear or exhaustion or a kind of defeat, he said, "They said that if I tell Arthur who I am, he'll die. They said I have to make sure he brings back magic by Samhain." He leaned into the dragon's scaly neck, the skin roughened with age, drawing as much comfort from Kilgharrah as he had tried to give earlier. "Old friend, I don't know what to do."

"Emrys." But instead of answers, all the dragon did was close his eyes again, and go back to sleep.

Letting the soft light die, sitting down next to Kilgharrah, sheltered against the dragon's neck, Merlin stared off into the distance.

There was no solace there. Nothing but moonlight and an ancient dragon breathing uneasily into the night.

And Merlin still didn't know what to do.

* * *

When Merlin woke, it was quiet in the glade. There was a glint of water beyond the trees and the mist had lifted a bit in the sunlight. It looked more like soft wool than the menacing heaviness of yesterday and he would have almost thought it beautiful in happier times.

Leaning back against the comfort of Kilgharrah's neck, for a moment, he didn't speak. There would be time enough for trying to figure out what he would do next and he wanted to breathe just for a moment.

But as he turned to pat the dragon's soft skin, trying to reassure him that he was there and willing to listen to whatever Kilgharrah had to say, his hand only met cold flesh. Under his palm, there was no movement, no thump of a heartbeat, no rattling breath, nothing.

Kilgharrah was dead.

Twisting around, his hands busy trying to find any sign of life, his heart denying that it was already too late, it took minutes before he could finally accept it. And when he did, all he could do was press his forehead to Kilgharrah's still cheek and whisper, "I'm sorry, old friend."

He couldn't even cry. He was numb with it all; he was so overwhelmed with everything that had happened that he couldn't feel anything anymore.

But he couldn't leave Kilgharrah to the crows.

With one final soft caress, he got to his feet. Gathering up the last of his strength, somehow, somehow, finding enough of a wellspring of magic to call in his hour of despair, he reached out and said, " _Beorg, áhelle draca."_

Above him, the hillside answered. Rocks began to tumble down, boulders of granite glistening with mica, fist-sized shards of quartz banded in gold, the silver flash of a thousand stones, whites and greys and the greens of copper, the rust-reds of iron, almost jewels in the heavy air.

When it was done, once the dust settled and Merlin could see again, there in the mists, the dragon's tomb stood, a hillock of its own, a fitting memorial to the great Kilgharrah.

And then, exhausted, as hollow as the hills, Merlin walked away.

* * *

Later, sometime, Merlin didn't know how long, he was back at the edge of the lake, staring out at the water. Not thinking, not feeling, just standing there. It was too much, too much and he didn't want to… remember anymore. Not destiny, not Arthur's grief-stricken face, not the silence of a dragon gone, nothing.

Behind him, in some sense, he could feel Gwynn's presence but he didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge him in any way. It was too much effort to decide what to do and so he didn't.

What he did see was a small empty boat coming his way across the water. When it stopped at his feet, he didn't even think, just stepped in and sat down.

As it glided away from the lake's edge, with one small part of him, Merlin wanted to ask Gwynn about Arthur but it was too much effort even then.

But Gwynn must have sensed something or maybe he just wanted to push Merlin into doing his part for magic's return. "Your king is already on his way back to Camelot." As Merlin blinked at him, still silent, the Sidhe Elder seemed to take it as an affront. In a voice sharp and remorseless, Gwynn said, "Remember, Emrys, by Samhain or he dies."

Merlin just nodded and turned his face away, looking instead toward the distant shore.

As the Sidhe continued to buzz warnings behind him, growing inaudible as Merlin floated away, he finally knew what he was going to do.

He was going home.


	8. Chapter 8

A ghost followed him.

Or rather it seemed a ghost. It was as if Arthur were right there by his side, silent, watching Merlin take one step after another away from Camelot, and staring daggers at Merlin for abandoning him.

All in his head, Merlin knew, and at times he just wanted to turn to the delusion-Arthur and tell the prat to leave him alone. But there was no one there.

The feeling didn't get any better when he finally reached Ealdor.

The village hadn't changed much, still a cluster of stone huts and thatched roofs along a single dirt track. As he walked through, he'd got some strange looks, not quite suspicious but wary and he'd nodded in reply, hoping to set the villagers' minds at ease. No one approached him, no one called out his name. It was as if they didn't know him, and while Merlin had expected it, it was still a blow.

Trying not to think about it all, he hurried to his mother's house.

His walk home had taken too long, he knew. Arthur would have sent word by now or perhaps Gwen did. She always did have a deft touch when it came to emotional things, unlike a certain king.

But it didn't matter. His mother would be mourning him and that thought only hurried his footsteps. The sooner she knew the truth, the better.

Knocking on the door — a stranger couldn't just barge in after all, there were muffled unhappy sounds inside and then a moment of silence before Hunith opened the door, saying as she did so, "I know you mean well… but," She stopped abruptly and said, "Do I know you?"

Holding onto the wall, looking as if she would collapse if she let go, his mother stood there, patiently waiting for a reply. Her face was spotchy with fresh tears and grief, and it hurt Merlin to see her in so much pain.

"I… Merlin is not dead. No matter what Arthur told you." He wanted to tell her everything, as quickly as he could but not outside, not where the others could hear. "He's alive."

For a moment, there was wild hope in Hunith's eyes but then she shook her head. "The king would not lie about such a thing. Leave me in peace to mourn my son."

But as she began to close the door in his face, Merlin couldn't stand it anymore. "Mother, please."

Shocked, she stood there, staring at him, then before he could say anything else, she gave a great sob, strode forward, and struck him hard across the mouth. "How dare you. Leave before I have the headman unleash the dogs on you."

She was afraid, she was in pain and Merlin knew it would take more than words to convince her.

Growing up, when they were alone in the house and no one else could see, to get her to smile after a long hard day, he'd conjure up butterflies in fantastical colours and let them fly around the room. Later, she'd shake her head and tell him to be careful but her smile was always the softer for it.

Bowing his head, breathing into his palm, he said, " _Fífalde._ "

Bright with greens and yellows and a soft purple, the butterfly lifted its wings and fluttered around Hunith's face. She stared at it a moment, speechless, and then turned back to Merlin. "Who are you?"

He tried to soften the blow, giving her a tentative smile. Even though he'd always known how strong she was, at the moment, she looked as fragile as glass. "Mother, I'm Merlin, your son. I know I look different but I _am_ Merlin. I'm sorry that I didn't get here sooner but I was on foot and Avalon was a long way from here." The way she was swaying, he was afraid she'd collapse at any moment and it wouldn't do to have too many questions. "Can we talk about this inside? There are too many prying eyes out here."

Hunith shook her head. At times, she could out-stubborn even Merlin. "Tell me something else that only Merlin would know."

There was a story she loved to tell him when he was younger. He'd never forgotten it.

"Once I made you a necklace of dandelions, not realising that they stain everything and you wore it anyway. And when I asked later why your neck was all yellow, you said that my necklace was made of love and that the sun was just jealous."

And then she did collapse, into his arms. Hugging him as if she'd never let him go, she said, "Merlin, oh, gods, Merlin, I thought, I thought…Merlin, Merlin."

He hugged her back. It felt so good to be enveloped in love, after enduring the cold emptiness where his heart used to be. He wanted to cry at that moment, just let go of everything and let his mum heal him as no one else ever could. But it was too open out there. Even now, there would be questions.

She must have sensed it, too. As she pulled back, she searched his face one final time and then taking his hand, she led him inside.

* * *

She didn't chide him for worrying her or ask him a million questions as to where he'd been and why he looked so different.

Instead, his mother ladled soup into a rough bowl and handed it to him without a word. She couldn't stop touching him though, a warm hand on his shoulder or ruffling his longer hair or tracing the fine lines of Sidhe magic at his wrists.

It was though she were giving him space to deal with everything he'd been through - as long as he wasn't beyond her reach. Over the years, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was, the fussing, the total acceptance of his actions, the steadfast love that shone in her eyes. She was helping to unravel the knots in his chest, and he slowly, slowly learned to breathe again.

When the silence had lasted long enough, she started to tell him about Mr Simmon's cow and how it had got tangled in some branches. It wasn't funny, just an ordinary thing for a small village but she made it sound like a bard's tale. It was unlike her; Hunith was more the straight-forward, get-it-done sort of mum, and while she could tell a story well enough, she usually left it to others.

Now it would seem she was trying to fill the spaces with sound, waiting until Merlin was ready before pressing him for answers.

It made him smile. "Mother, I promise to tell you everything, but right now, can I just not think? It's… it's hard."

Pressing one small palm to his cheek, she said, "All of it can wait until you are ready. Would you like more soup?"

Shaking his head, he laid his hand over hers a moment and then let go. "Sleep would be very welcome. I've not… I have nightmares. I just hope I don't wake you with them."

"Oh, Merlin, what have they done to you?" For a moment, her eyes swam with tears but then she pulled him to her, hugging him as tightly as if he were a small child. "No, don't answer. It's just a mother's worry. I thought I'd lost you." She didn't let go, just buried her face in his neck, and gave a little sob that quickly turned to more.

He let her cry there in his arms. In a way, it was comforting, tears of joy and relief instead of sorrow, and he knew she needed to let it out. And if he cried, too, then who would be the wiser.

* * *

It couldn't last. She was just finished cleaning up the meal and Merlin getting ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. "Hunith?"

"It's Tomos, the new headman. He'll be wanting to know who you are. What do I say?" She looked worried, as if afraid he'd disappear. Or maybe it was her old fears coming back. They had both hidden so much for so long that it was easy to fall back into old habits.

"That I'm a cousin of Merlin's come to pay my respects." Pulling the sleeves of his nightshirt down over his wrists to hide the symbols of power, he gave her a sad smile. He didn't want to say it, unwilling to use the name the Sidhe had insisted upon, but he was trapped into it anyway. "I go by Emrys, now."

"You do look a bit like Balinor and at first I thought…," There was another knock at the door and Hunith said, "I better answer it before Tomos gets alarmed."

As she opened the door, a man poked his head in. "Is everything alright?" But before she could answer, Tomos spotted Merlin, and frowning a bit, turned back to Hunith. "I heard that you have company."

She opened the door wider, to let the headman in. Anything else might have seemed suspicious; Merlin knew that, along the border between Camelot and once Cenred's and now Lot's kingdom, any stranger could be a potential enemy. Tomos was just being properly wary.

"Tomos, this is Merlin's cousin, Emrys. He will be staying for a few days to help out."

Nodding, Tomos said, "We can always use another pair of hands." Then he seemed to settle in, eager for news. "And where are you from, Emrys?"

Ealdor had always been a backwater. When Merlin had been younger, it had seemed incredibly boring at times so it was no surprise that Tomos was asking questions and it would be no surprise if everyone else in the village knew all about Merlin within the hour.

"I doubt you've heard of it. Little place, Willowdale, near Camelot. I haven't seen… Hunith in a long time but we've kept in touch over the years. When I heard Merlin had died, I thought I'd come to see what I could do for her."

"A cousin?" Tomos was nothing if not persistent. "Hunith, you should have let us know you had family in Camelot. We would have sent word."

His mother looked startled, as if she didn't know what to say, but Merlin, long used to lying, stepped in. "No, not from Hunith's side of the family. Merlin has several cousins in Camelot from Balinor's side. I'm a second cousin but Merlin and I were very close, especially once he moved there."

"I'm surprised you didn't come with that knight from Pendragon's court. Sir Percival, I think he said his name was. Big man. A bit quiet, though, as if he'd seen too much." Tomos was watching Merlin closely. "He would have scared off any bandits, a knight like that."

Merlin shrugged. "Sir Percival is well known at court. However, Willowdale is some distance further east. I'm sure he was tasked to bring his grim news as quickly as he could and the knights are known for their devotion to duty."

Tomos nodded, then said, "I've heard that they are no longer just of the nobility but that anyone with fighting skills and a willingness to pledge their honour to Camelot are welcome to try for knighthood. Seems a bit odd but the king must know what he's doing, don't you think?"

But before Tomos could pry any further, Hunith interrupted, "Emrys has had a long journey from Camelot. I'm sure he'll be happy to answer any of your questions once he's rested. And I'm…." She rubbed at her eyes, leaning against the table, looking suddenly tired.

"Of course." Tomos seemed sympathetic, as if he'd just realised that she was still in mourning. He took her hands in his and squeezed them, then let her go. "Hunith, if you need anything, you have only to ask. Everyone here loved Merlin, sometime trouble-maker though he was, and he will be sorely missed." As she nodded, Tomos said to Merlin, "Welcome to Ealdor."

He gave Merlin one long searching look, the turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Sitting down, Hunith stared at the door a moment, then back at Merlin. "They will all be swarming over here tomorrow. They'll want to know everything and they'll be building you a house and planning your wedding by the end of the week."

"I know. But I've become very good with keeping secrets." Merlin sat down next to her, putting his arm around her and giving her a little hug before letting her go. "Don't worry, Mother. It will be all right."

They were both exhausted and Merlin wanted nothing more than to sleep a week. He was almost drifting off, even sitting at the table. With great effort, he got up and crawled onto the covered straw bedding and pulled the blanket over him. His mother bustled about for a while, then fell into bed as well.

In the dying light of the banked fire, he could see Hunith staring up at the ceiling. He knew she had questions, lots of them, and was trying desperately not to ask, but patient though she was, it would seem that she had to know the answer to at least one of them.

"Emrys? Not Merlin?"

He didn't want to break her heart but he couldn't lie either.

"No, in one thing, Arthur was right." He turned away, closed his eyes. "Merlin is gone and I'm what's left."

"You will always be my Merlin," she whispered.

If only he could believe that.


	9. Chapter 9

"Liar!" Arthur stood there, scowling at him, Excalibur pointed straight at Merlin's heart. "Sorcerer, betrayer, you are dead to me."

"Arthur, please." But even as Merlin was pleading with him for understanding, Arthur was already coming at him, the sword swinging high as if he was about to take Merlin's head off. He jerked back, trying to get away, but his feet were bound in mud and blood, and frantic, he pushed his magic outward, trying to stop Arthur before it was too late.

It was supposed to be purely defensive.

But instead of a shield, the magic soured, greens into reds, and as it blasted into Arthur, he seemed to sway with it. Then falling back, as Merlin watched in horror, Arthur's body disintegrated, collapsing into bones and dust.

For a moment, Merlin stared at the scatter of destruction, and knew it was all his fault. He dove down, hands busy trying to push the bits of Arthur back into some semblance of a man but the bones kept falling apart, turning into shards sharp enough to slice Merlin's skin apart.

It didn't matter that it hurt, that he was bleeding to death with every attempt to bring Arthur back; he couldn't stop. He kept pushing at the dust and the blood-spattered bone trying to fix it, to turn things back. He might be covered in carnage but anything to turn it all around and he was screaming, screaming.

"Merlin, wake up!" His mother was calling to him and it couldn't be right. He was at Camlann and she couldn't be there but he had to listen. She was his mother and he had to....

With a final cry, he woke.

He couldn't catch his breath and the horror of it kept skittering across his skin. He looked down to see his hands whole and uncut but he rubbed at them anyway. All the while, he was muttering, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Beside him, his mother was holding him tight, rubbing his back and whispering nonsense words, comfort and warmth in her embrace.

He let her. He needed to be held so desperately, needed to forget the loathing in dream-Arthur's eyes. He knew that even though it wasn't true, it felt true, that it was his fear coming back to haunt him.

"Sorry," he said, into her hair, unable to explain, unable to do anything but sit there and be comforted.

She knew him too well. Pulling him closer, she said, "It will be alright, Merlin, in time. You've had so much on your young shoulders for so long that it's not surprising." Then as he gave a little sigh and pulled back, she let him go.

As he lay down again and pulled the covers back over him, she reached out and smoothed his hair. "Try to get some sleep. I will be here when you wake."

"Thanks for not asking. I…." Merlin couldn't go on.

"I will be ready to listen when you are ready to tell me. Until then, rest. And know that I will always love you."

"I love you, too, Mother. Always have, always will."

The nightmares did not return that night.

* * *

Not unexpectedly, the morning brought visitors. They both knew it would. Ealdor was too small for strangers to go unnoticed. Rather than wait for them to come knocking, Merlin had Hunith sit outside, resting and enjoying the sunshine while he cleaned up some of her garden.

It seemed to work. One by one, their neighbours would bring something for Hunith and stay to find out anything they could about Merlin.

He kept the information he gave them simple enough. Lies had a way of turning around and biting him in the backside so he tried to keep to the truth, or rather an edited version of it, as much as possible. Yes, he was Merlin's cousin and they'd all nod and say that they could see the likeness. More questions about how long he'd be there and what was Camelot like and did he think the Pendragon king was a good one and he fended them off as best he could. He didn't want to think about Arthur, not when his mind, his heart was still broken with the weight of everything he'd been through.

They even asked about the bindings at his wrists; he'd used rags to hide the symbols of power under his sleeves. It might not be Camelot, but magic was still frowned upon even in Lot's kingdom. He told them some nonsense about hurting himself while in Willowdale and the wounds were slow in healing. They clucked and gave him advice on herbs to use and he promised to try each and every one.

For the most part, the villagers were eager for gossip but not pushy. He'd known them all his life but not always in a good way. Merlin had been too curious, too out-of-step, too mischievous for the placid waters of Ealdor and more often than not, it had got him into trouble. Hunith had been right to send him away into the wider world.

But now, hearing them talk about his childhood, smiling about some of the things that he'd got into, it was almost a comfort. He'd no idea that they'd liked him so much, not when he'd been almost an outcast growing up.

And he felt better knowing that they would always look out for Hunith. He'd worried about it when he left that first time and since then, too. Now as an outsider, he could see how much they all seemed to care about her.

He knew he'd have to leave her again, sooner or later, and it was one less worry on his already too-heavy shoulders.

"Emrys." Merlin turned around to see Tomos watching him. "Might I have a word?"

Glancing over to where Hunith sat surrounded by friends, Merlin said, "I'm just going to go get some water. I'll be right back."

She looked worried. But he gave her a little reassuring smile and she nodded, then turned back to her gossiping neighbours.

At least Tomos waited until they were out of earshot before he jerked Merlin into a side yard, shoved him up against a wall, and one hand gripping him tight, he said, "Who are you really?"

It would seem that Merlin was not quite so easily accepted after all. As calmly as he could, he said, "I'm Emrys. Merlin's cousin."

"Emrys. She never talked about you before." Tomos scowled at him, then pushed him again into the hard rock of the hut. One stone was jabbing at Merlin's back but he didn't protest. Surprised by Tomos's reaction, still he wanted to know why he thought attacking Merlin was a good idea. "She was always talking about Merlin and how he was doing in Camelot and never once mentioned you."

A perceptive headman was an asset to a small village like Ealdor but at the moment, Merlin wasn't sure he wanted someone to see through his disguise so easily. He scrambled for a believable excuse. "I haven't written as often as I should have but Merlin told me she was doing well. I just thought I'd help now that he's gone."

Tomos abruptly let him go. Taking a step back, frowning with distaste, he said, "Are you Merlin's father?"

That was the last thing Merlin expected to hear.

"What?!" Then shaking his head, his hands raised as if to stop Tomos from saying anything else – the very idea was insane, he said, "No, absolutely not."

"I've talked with people who'd met Balinor and you look something like him, I'm told. It seems too coincidental that some unknown cousin looking so much like Merlin’s father would suddenly show up."

Impossibly, the man was serious. It must have made a kind of sense from Tomos's viewpoint. Merlin knew that his face seemed older, more worn, and he probably looked about Balinor's age. Everyone there had commented on how they could see the family likeness but instead of accepting him as the cousin he was purported to be, Tomos had reached the wrong conclusion.

For a moment, Merlin couldn't speak, just stood there gaping at him. Then realising that he was waiting for Merlin to say something, he said, "Family resemblances are sometimes that way. Merlin and I often remarked on it."

Tomos wasn't buying any of it. "When Pendragon's thugs came for Merlin's father, they told us that he was a criminal, accused him of all sorts of things, sorcery, theft, treason. Even offered a reward. But by then, he'd run away. He never came back, just left her behind to pick up the pieces." Beginning to pace, waving his hand in Hunith's direction, Tomos said, "From what I've heard about it, Hunith was devastated. And then she had Merlin. That man never sent word or money or anything and now you show up. A cousin she's never talked about before." He stopped abruptly, looked at Merlin with eyes too sharp by half. "I would hate to think that you would come back now and take advantage of Hunith's grief."

"Balinor died years ago. Merlin wrote to her about it." He stood there, trying to look as innocent and non-threatening as he could. "I am just here to help her for a little while. I've no plans to remain. I have my own life back in Camelot."

"Hunith is well-loved, and if anyone were to break her heart more than it's already been broken, none of us would be think twice about beating you to a pulp. In fact, we'd probably have to draw lots for it."

If the situation weren't so absurd, Merlin would be touched. It was clear that all of the villagers loved Hunith and wished her well. And it would be one less burden to carry when he left.

"Tomos, I am happy to hear it. Merlin asked her to move to Camelot a dozen times or more and she always said that Ealdor was her home. I can now see why." He gave Tomos a small smile, relieved, and shoved out his hand in a gesture of friendship. "Thank you for reassuring me that she will be taken care of once I go home."

"For Hunith's sake, I'll accept you at face value. For now." Looking down at Merlin's hand, then up again into Merlin's eyes, he said, "But don't make me regret it." And then Tomos walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

After that, things settled into a routine. Hunith's hut needed to be repaired and Merlin was more than busy re-thatching part of the roof, clearing out all the spiders hiding in the ceiling, working in the garden and chopping wood enough for the winter. Everyone pitched in with the crops. Merlin had learned some hunting skills from Arthur so he was able to provide meat for the village as well. They all seemed to like having him around — except Tomos who watched him with wary eyes.

It felt good not to have to think. The physical part of it made him sweat and burn in places he'd forgotten but it also seemed to ground him. He didn't want to think about magic or Arthur in his faraway castle or the Sidhe's warnings. He just wanted to be Merlin, Hunith's son, and revel in all her fussing.

But he wasn't Merlin, not anymore, and as the days passed, the memories seemed to crowd in on him. He knew he'd have to leave soon. He was already worried that he'd waited too long and someone would try and kill Camelot's king, and that he wouldn't be there to prevent it.

Things came to a head when one afternoon, just before he opened the door, he could hear his mother and Tomos arguing through the open window. "He's not who he says he is, Hunith, and you have to see that."

But his mother was not one to back down. "I know Emrys. He's family. I've known him all his life. He's only trying to help."

"He's been very helpful and if he were anyone else, I'd try and get him to stay but Hunith…." Inside, there were sounds, leather scuffing the dirt floor, a slap of flesh against wood, a wobbling bowl. Tomos's voice was quieter, as if he were trying not to let the whole village know what he was saying, but sour, too. "Did you know he's a Druid? Have you seen the markings on his wrists? He's trouble."

Merlin couldn't quite make out what his mother said next but Tomos wasn't about to back down. "At first I thought he was Balinor, come back to hurt you again. No, don't look at me like that. My father told me that this Emrys looks like him and others have, too. But I can believe it's merely a family trait. I've known cousins that were very much alike. But the symbols. I can't let them go."

"It's nothing like that. They are just decorations. You can't…." She sounded upset, near tears.

"I can and I will." Tomos's voice was cold, final. It was obvious just from the way he sounded that he was done with pleading. "Hunith, they are magic and you know that and I know that. I can't have a sorcerer in the village. The Camelot border is only a few miles away and magic is still illegal there. If they were to get wind of him, it could be devastating for us. I know he's family but he has to go."

"I won’t let you chase him away. I'll go with him if I have to. He's all I have left."

That was all Merlin needed to hear. He couldn't let his mother sacrifice his life for him, too. As he opened the door, he saw Hunith was standing there by the fire, as furious and as unyielding as some avenging goddess of legend, defending her young from danger.

"Hunith…." Tomos was close by, looking uncertain in light of what she had just said, but turned toward Merlin as he came in.

Closing the door behind him, shaking his head when Hunith looked like she was going to say something they both might regret, Merlin said, "Tomos, you needn't worry. I was going to leave anyway. Is tomorrow soon enough?"

She stepped forward, grabbed onto his sleeve. "You can't. It's too soon."

He brought his face down close to hers and then whispering into her ear, softly enough that Tomos couldn't hear, he said, "I need to go, Mother. It's time."

Still shaking her head, both of them knowing that their time together was at an end but unwilling to let go just yet, she said, "It's not enough."

"It never is." Patting her hand, giving her a pained smile, he shook loose from her grip and stood there, waiting.

Tomos looked almost reluctant but he was a good man and a leader of his people. He was doing what was best for the village and they all knew it. "I'm sorry, Emrys. You have been very helpful but you must understand my position."

"I will leave at dawn." Hunith made a little sound, a moan or frail protest, but Merlin's mind was made up. "I'm sure she'll need help from time to time. I hope I can count on you and the others."

"Yes, of course. Hunith has been a strength in our community for many years. It's only right that we give a little of that back." He put out his hand and Merlin clasped it, man to man, a final good-bye. As he let go, Tomos said, "I wish you well, Emrys, and I hope you find peace in time."

With that, Tomos nodded, and closing the door behind him, he left them alone.

* * *

 

"Merlin." Collapsing down onto the bench, looking heartbroken, Hunith said, "I don't want to lose you again."

"Mother, you know I have to go." Merlin sat down next to her, put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. "I've stayed too long as it is."

She blinked back tears. "Would that be so wrong?"

Merlin never could bear to see his mother cry. But he knew it was time for him to leave no matter how much it hurt her. Letting her go, he turned to face her.

"I wish I could be like everyone else." Hunith started to protest but he just shook his head. He needed to say it and she needed to hear it.

"When I was a boy, I felt like I was cursed, that I was a monster. Why else would I have to hide what I was?" He sent her a sad smile, then said, "And then when I finally had a purpose, when the dragon told me about my destiny and Albion and Arthur as the once and future king, it seemed more a gift. That I wasn't that monster after all, and even though I still had to hide, it was such a relief that I was willing to put up with almost anything. I was willing to do almost anything to believe it was true."

Looking away, unwilling to see the pain in her eyes, he said, "And now I know that I was right the first time. I am cursed. I am a monster. Because no matter what I do, someone will die and it will be my fault."

"Merlin, no." Her palm against his cheek, she turned his face toward hers. There was determination there, and for a moment, he leaned into her warmth, wanting her impossible faith in him to be true. "You are not a monster. Never think that."

"Mother, I made so many wrong choices and Arthur paid for it with his life." He pressed her hand against his cheek, and then pulled it away from his face, took her small fingers in his own. "And now I'm the one trapped, and no matter how much I try to escape it, I can't."

"But Arthur isn't dead."

"No, but Merlin is. The Sidhe have marked me, you've seen the symbols on my skin. They have bound this new face to me and I can't seem to figure out how to change it back or even if I should." Her eyes flicked down a moment, seemed to trace the swirls and marks on his skin with her gaze before shaking her head and looking again at him. "I traded Arthur's life for my own and I gave mine up willingly. But if he doesn't accept magic by Samhain, he'll die. Or if he finds out I'm really Merlin, he'll die. In so many ways, I could slip up and it could all be for nothing and I… I don't know what to do."

"Is that why you are here and not Camelot?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't face him, not after all the lies I've told."

"Arthur would understand, I’m sure of it." She sounded so certain and he wished it could be true but once Arthur got past whatever grief he was feeling, he'd never forgive Merlin for the betrayal; the ten years of lies between them were too heavy a violation of Arthur's trust.

"I have to go back. Magic seems to be on the move again. For a while after Camlann, things were quiet but there's an imbalance there. I can feel it growing."

He looked toward the open window and towards the mountains beyond. Night was already starting to fall, and in the distance, white-capped peaks were tinged red as blood. "I think if I don't go, some of those with hatred for the Pendragon name will kill Arthur, and I won't be there to prevent it. He doesn't deserve to die just because I'm a coward." He shook himself free, turned back to Hunith. "It's past time I faced my fears."

"You are no coward."

Shaking his head, he said, "I love you, Mother, but you have no idea."

"Then tell me." She sounded so certain and Merlin had so much bottled up inside that it was tearing him to pieces. If anyone could forgive him for what he'd done, it would be his mother.

So he told her.

And when he did, when he revealed everything to her, all the consequences, death and destruction and the betrayal of friends, she looked ill, as if she couldn't believe it of him. With that look, he did feel a monster. But then she folded him into her embrace and didn't let go for the longest time.

"Merlin, it wasn't your fault."

She was wrong, so very wrong. How she could still have faith in him after all he'd done? He couldn't fathom it.

"I made choices based on what it would do to Arthur; I didn't think about anyone else. But magic and the people it affects are important, too. If I'd thought it through, maybe things would have been different. But now I have to fix it somehow." When she started to protest again, he just shook his head. "In one way, the Sidhe did me a favour. They've forced the issue, and while I'm being punished for my mistakes, I hope that no one else will be. I have to try for all our sakes."

"Merlin, it wasn't your fault."

"Then whose fault was it, Mother?" He didn't want to hurt her but she was blind to his flaws and it was making him frustrated. He needed a clearer head and she loved him too much to see just how much of a monster he really was.

He stood up and went over to the window, closed it, then leaned his head against the wood shutter for a moment. When Hunith called after him, he turned around. "No, I don't want to fight about it, not now. Just let me enjoy your fussing over me and I'll show you some magic tricks I learned over the years. Did you know I can juggle? And make spark dragons?"

His mother must have realised that he would not be moved in this. So instead she smiled up at him.

"Merlin, you could make spark dragons when you were a toddler. Nearly burnt the house down."

"Well, I'm better now." And then he proceeded to show her just how much.

* * *

 

Merlin was packing when his mother handed him a large leather pouch. It was heavy, and when he opened it, he was astonished to find gold inside. "Where did you get this?"

"I've more hidden under the floorboard by my bed." She shrugged, nodding toward the hiding place, then said, "Arthur sent it and a letter, too. When you died."

He looked up at that. He didn't think there would be an actual letter, just Percival telling her the news. "I tried to read it but it was just too painful. He sent other things, too, your clothes, some small things that he thought were important to you. But most of all, he sent me enough coin to last a lifetime. I think he felt guilty about what happened and wanted to make amends. But I'd have given it all away to have you back." She nodded down at the pouch. "You'll need money to start over again… unless you are going to work for Gaius?"

Shaking his head, Merlin said, "Even if Gaius can keep a secret – and he's very good at it, Arthur would figure it out. I can't risk it." He felt uneasy about seeing what Arthur had written. He wasn't sure he wanted to read it but he needed to. "Can I see the letter?"

"There were two actually."

The more ornate one was full of seals and ribbons and officiousness almost oozing off the page. It was in a precise hand, obviously not written by Arthur since his skills with a quill were not the best, and full of platitudes: deepest regret and service to King and Camelot and honoured sacrifice, lots of royal pomposity and supercilious nonsense. A typical letter devoid of anything emotional.

"He's a cabbage-head." Merlin had to admit he was disappointed. He knew Arthur had trouble with emotion sometimes but this was drivel, something you'd sent to a lackey whom you'd never met. "This sounds like one of his dogs died. I bet he had George write this. A load of horse dung from that royal arse."

"Merlin!" She put her hand on his arm and when he looked up, she handed him another letter. "This was tucked inside."

_Hunith,_

_I never thought I'd have to write this letter. Merlin was always too stubborn for his own good. He's see something that would need to be fixed and plunge right in, never thinking about the consequences and certainly never listening to my orders to the contrary. He'd always assume that everything would turn out all right in the end. Most of the time, it did, much to my chagrin, and then he'd spend endless days crowing about it._

_But this time, he couldn't fix it. I was gravely wounded. I knew I'd die before we ever got to that Avalon place he kept prattling on about but I let him natter away. It seemed to give him comfort._

_I had no idea that against my express wishes, he'd bargain for my life and give his own in return. Too obstinate by half, he wouldn't listen, no matter how much I tried to change his mind._

_I would have refused it had I the power to do so. It was not his time to go. It was mine, and to my last breath, I will remember his sacrifice and wish it had been me and not him._

_I have sent you a small sum to help with expenses. It cannot replace him or soothe your heart but I know he would wish you to have it. If you ever have need of anything, send back the sigil I've enclosed and I will do everything in my power to help._

His hands ghosted over the words. The letter was splotchy with ink stains and there were places where the letters had run together. Watered with grief.

Arthur had always said that no man was worth his tears — well, except maybe Uther and then only because it was Arthur's father after all — but Arthur had loved Merlin enough for tears, too.

Hunith showed him a silver token, a cross-hatch decorated with a flying bird. "This was inside. It's a pretty thing."

Merlin knew it. It was Arthur's mother's sigil. He'd given it to Merlin once and when the danger was over, Merlin had handed it back, saying it was too precious for him to keep. Arthur seemed to accept that and they hadn't mentioned it again. And yet there it was. In his mother's hands.

Something that Arthur had held dear.

And with that, Merlin's heart lightened just a little. Maybe Arthur had forgiven him after all.


	11. Chapter 11

He remembered the first time he came to Camelot, so full of hope, so full of relief that finally someone would be able to help him with his powers. Hope that was dashed even before he'd been there an hour, with blood spilling onto the flagstones and a woman's cry for vengeance.

The citadel was the same as he remembered, the noise of people bustling about their business in the lower town, the stones rising high above their heads as a not so subtle reminder of power, but there was life there and there were friends.

It was hard, though, to remember that, especially when Percival walked right past, Sir Leon at his side, talking quietly about patrols. Merlin started to lift his hand, to smile at them, but Leon just frowned in his direction, looking as if he were trying and failing to place this stranger. And it struck Merlin then that they'd not know him, could never know him again; that part of his life was over.

Heart in his throat, he stepped aside, bowing a little, and watched as they walked away.

For a moment, he stood there, blinking furiously, trying to hold back the tears. Then he pulled himself together. If a chance encounter could set him off like that, he had no idea how he'd cope when he saw Arthur again. He had to harden his heart or it would never work.

Taking a breath, letting it out again, he put his feelings aside and thought about what he needed to do next.

He needed an ally in Camelot. If Arthur had kept his word and brought magic back, then Merlin could remain in the shadows and protect him from afar; it would kill him to keep away, but if that was what it took for Arthur to live, then Merlin would do whatever he had to do. If magic was still outlawed, he'd need some way of getting to Arthur and making him see that what he was doing was dishonourable.

Gwen might help, but her first priority would always be Arthur. Magic's place in Camelot wouldn't move her. Gwaine might be amenable once he got past the fact that Merlin had been lying to him all those years, but much as he wanted to, more likely Gwaine would let something slip and Merlin couldn't take the chance.

Gaius was the only logical choice. He was on the Council, he was high in Arthur's favour and most importantly, he could keep a secret; he’d had plenty of experience over the years. But even so Merlin was reluctant. Gaius was ruled by fear, had been for all those years under Uther's rule.

And it was Merlin's fear and Gaius's that had ruined everything.

He straightened, swinging the sack he'd been carrying up onto his back again. He couldn't very well go to Gaius and demand his old job back. So instead, while walking toward Camelot, thinking long and hard about it, he decided to pose as an herbalist, set up a little booth and have Gaius come to him for supplies. He had experience collecting and he also knew the best herbs and plants in the area plus he knew what ingredients were in short supply and what might normally be impossible to get.

Gold had eased the way for obtaining even the rarest of medicines - smugglers were rampant along the border, and his sack contained several things that Gaius might be eager to purchase.

All he had to do was wait and have Gaius come to him.

* * *

It took two days. Two days of hell.

Thinking to get information about the court and any changes in the laws on magic, instead that first night at the Rising Sun, he found another horror piled onto his already crushed heart. Gwaine was gone, tortured to death by Morgana and Merlin wanted to kill her all over again.

But there was nothing for it. It was done and Gwaine's body burned to ash.

Merlin longed to go numb. For a while, it had almost helped, the not-thinking, the not-feeling. But he'd never found a cure for pain's return. All he could do was keep going. Until he stopped. But much as he wanted to stop, he was too stubborn by half and Arthur's life and magic's return to consider.

During the day, doing a brisk business, surprisingly so, he was able to find out even more. He couldn't believe it, though. Arthur couldn't have changed that much.

It had been a month since Camlann and usually Arthur, honourable to the last, would have kept his word and made the necessary changes. But there had been nothing. If anything, he’d been hearing rumours that the laws would be tightened, that there might even be a second purge. That the normally compassionate king had come back from the war changed for the worse.

He didn't know what to think.

Finally, near the end of the second day, Gaius came shuffling down the lane. Leaning heavily on a staff, he looked like he'd aged a thousand years; there were deep lines and skin the colour of bruises under his eyes. But mostly he seemed bewildered, lost.

Normally, on Thursdays, Gaius would go pot hunting, to replenish his supply for all the potions he'd create for the court but he seemed to ignore the merchants this time, seemed to ignore everything. He limped along, looking neither right nor left.

Merlin had hoped that the bright spices and green herbs would have caught his attention but as Gaius stumbled past, ignoring him, he knew he had to do something.

"My Lord, I've brought rare ingredients to this fair city, bay leaves and ginger and myrrh. I've other things, too, more common but hard to find these days with so much turmoil in the realm. If only you would look upon my poor offerings." Gaius must have heard him – Merlin was loud enough, but he didn't stop, only slowed down a bit. Growing desperate, Merlin walked next to him, said more softly, "Meadowsweet or mistletoe for protection, perhaps. Or rue to repel evil spirits."

Stopping, leaning heavily on his staff, Gaius turned toward Merlin, and looking him up and down, said, "Be careful how you pedal your wares. Some might accuse you of magic."

"Then they would be fools, sir." To finally talk with Gaius again was a relief. But as they stood there, Gauis turned a bit pale, and whatever joy there was in reunion turned into worry. "Are you ill?"

"Nothing but the frailty of age." Gaius shrugged, looked away, then seeming to gather his strength, he started back up the hill.

"It is near closing time. Can I buy you an ale perhaps?" Merlin didn't want to let the moment pass. He'd already lost too many people in his life. Besides, the old man's laboured breathing was worrisome. "At least let me offer you my assistance as far as the tavern. I will be staying there awhile." He sent Gaius a little smile. "I will admit the company is loud but the stew is good and plenty of it."

Gaius shook his head. "Perhaps another time."

He tried not to feel disappointed. "Of course. If you need to find me, you have only to ask for Emrys." At that, Gaius stopped and stared up at Merlin. As he stood there, swaying, he looked as pale as a shroud. Merlin said sharply, "Are you all right? You really look like you need to sit down."

For a moment, Gaius was silent, just stood there peering up at Merlin, searching his face. Then he must have made some kind of decision. Nodding, he said, "Emrys, come to my chambers tonight. I will have to attend the king's council but any time after moon-rise. I would like to talk to you about your… herbs."

And with that he hobbled away.

* * *

As soon as Merlin entered the room, Gaius was crowding him, his hand white-knuckled on the staff as he scowled at Merlin. His voice sharp, he said, "Who are you?"

Closing the door carefully behind him, making sure there was no one lurking in the hall to overhear them, Merlin said, "Emrys."

Walking over to the table, sitting on the ricky bench he'd used for years – some things never changed, Merlin nodded to Gaius, gesturing for him to sit down. He was worried about him; his mentor really did look ill and he just hoped the shock of learning who he was would not be too much for the old man. He'd have to take it slowly.

But Gaius was having none of it. "There was only one person I knew by that name and he's dead."

"The Sidhe took his life, yes." Merlin tried to keep his voice calm but tears were already clogging his throat.

"You have no right to use that name." The staff in Gaius's hand was shaking and he looked both furious and frail. Merlin was getting more and more concerned. He'd thought softening the blow would help but now he wasn't sure that he shouldn't just come out and tell him.

"Gaius, please sit before you fall over." He got up and placing one hand under Gauis's elbow, guided him to his favourite chair. Gaius protested, of course, but allowed it. He must have realised that he was in no position to struggle, and Merlin was gentle. As Gaius settled in, Merlin took the staff and putting it aside, slid down on the stool next to him.

"Who are you?" Gaius was still scowling but more in puzzlement than fury.

"Someone who would see magic used for good. As it was meant to be." Then, reaching a decision, he leaned in, urgent, worried, emphatic, and said, "Gaius, promise me that you won't tell Arthur who I really am. Ever. If he finds out, he'll die. The Sidhe have made that very clear."

At first, Gaius just seemed taken aback, as if he wasn't sure what Merlin was talking about. "Who are you?"

"Don't you recognise me?" Merlin sent him a sad smile and waited.

Gaius started to shake his head, then stopped. The silence lengthened as he reached out, took Merlin's face in his hands, and searched for answers. And when it came, when Gaius realised who he was, suddenly Merlin couldn't breathe for the hug Gaius was giving him.

It felt as good as his mother's and just as welcome. "Merlin, oh my boy, my boy."

"I wasn't sure how to tell you." Merlin pulled back, still grinning with relief. "I look very different."

"Your eyes always did give you away." Gaius's laugh was full of joy and he kept holding Merlin's hand or patting at his bearded cheek as if to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming.

"I'll have to remember that." He gave Gaius another quick smile and then just sat there a moment, almost drunk with relief.

Gaius was still staring at him, now looking more thoughtful, as if Merlin were a puzzle and he needed to know the answer. And there were many things to discuss if magic were to be brought back into Camelot. "Is that why you look so different? To keep Arthur from finding out you are still alive?"

Merlin shrugged. "When you sent me to the Sidhe to save Arthur, did you ever wonder what their price would be?"

"You were desperate for a cure and I could not help you." Gaius looked away a moment, shame on his cheeks, then as he turned back, he said, "My boy, I didn't think your life would be forfeit. Never that. You are as a son to me."

"Gaius, you warned me about them. And I knew what the cost might be."

Merlin gave Gaius's arm a little squeeze of comfort. He didn't want him to think it was Gaius's fault. It was Merlin's choice after all.

As he let go, Merlin said, "The Sidhe are vindictive tricksters who lie and manipulate and tell those who ask for their help things that may or may not be true. They have great power — over life and death, over perception, over reality. And they have their own agendas." He couldn't keep the loathing out of his voice. They'd destroyed his world and he was still dealing with the aftermath. "They took my life and forced me into another."

"Merlin…."

The sympathy in Gaius's voice twisted something in his chest. More sharply than he would have liked, Merlin said, "Emrys."

When Gaius just looked at him, startled, Merlin shook his head. "My name is Emrys. I can't chance Arthur finding out. The Sidhe were very explicit about it. If he learns who I am, who I was, he will die. I have to be Emrys now… and always."

"Emrys, then." Gaius nodded. He was always very perceptive and he probably knew just how much Merlin didn't want this new reality. He studied Merlin's face a bit more. "Did they change you or is this your doing? You look vaguely familiar but except for the eyes, I'd have not known you."

Silently, Merlin pulled up the sleeves of his tunic. The symbols on his skin were stark and Gaius, ever the researcher, peered at them a while, twisted Merlin's arms back and forth, hummed a bit, and then finally let go. "Ah, a powerful spell. Have you tried to counteract it?"

Shaking his head, Merlin said, "I'm not sure I should. Merlin rising from the dead? There would be too many questions. And there's Arthur's life. I can't risk it."

For a moment, Gaius sat there, then patted Merlin's hand. "I'm sorry, my boy. If I could help, I would but this is beyond my abilities."

"I know." If Merlin couldn't figure out a way to counteract the spell, then Gaius, knowledgeable though he was, wasn't likely to be able to do it, either. Shrugging it off, he said, "Why hasn't Arthur allowed magic back into the kingdom yet? He promised me he would."

Gaius's sigh was heavy. "He blames magic for your death and for Morgana's."

One more stone on his chest, crushing him. "He should blame me for it. They were my mistakes that ended up destroying her life and mine."

Gaius started to protest, then when he looked at Merlin's set face, he just gave another long sigh. He must had seen that argument was pointless. Instead, he said, "What did the Sidhe really want?"

"To bring back magic. Arthur must change the laws by Samhain or he will die."

Merlin grimaced, then stood up, and began to meander his way through the room, picking up one by one the colourful vials scattered around and putting them back down again.

"Samhain is only a few months from now."

Gaius may have sounded dismayed, but Merlin was far more worried.

"I know." Gazing at the entrance to his old room, he stood there a long time before turning back at Gaius. "I was supposed to bring back magic years ago. Instead I was too afraid and we've all paid the price for it."

"The king will never allow magic in Camelot." Gaius was staring up at Merlin, his eyes cloudy with apprehension, his face pale. He seemed to hesitate, then he said, "He told me of your death but refused to say anything more. When I pressed him, he went into a shouting tirade about lies and disobedience and magic and then stomped away. He hadn't mentioned your name since. And he has been ignoring any advice I might give him."

"You've been his trusted advisor for years."

"He has a new physician, too." This was not good. Gaius had been the court's physician for decades. To dismiss him so easily was troubling. But Gaius just shrugged it off. "I am an old man. It had been coming for some time. As my apprentice, you were a breath of fresh air, easing my duties. But once you left, I couldn't keep up. Geoffrey has told me that I will have a pension and be able to continue helping with patients for as long as I like."

"I'm sorry, Gaius." He knew how much Gaius loved medicine and to be tossed aside like this must have hurt.

Pointing a finger at Merlin, he said, "It's not your fault. Don't go taking on that burden, too." When Merlin frowned a moment and then realising that it might be okay after all, nodded his agreement, Gaius gave a little humph. "As for magic, his stance has hardened considerably and he won't let anyone reason with him about it."

This was disturbing on many levels. He had hoped that Arthur just needed time to adjust but if he were really going to punish those who used magic, if he were going to go back on his word, Merlin didn't know what to do. But he couldn't let it go on.

"He hasn't… hurt anyone, has he?" For the first time, he felt guilty that he'd taken so long to come back. He'd needed to find his way, and the time he'd spent with his mother had helped immeasurably. But he'd hate to think anyone else had suffered because he couldn't cope. "He promised the Druids that he'd leave them alone to practice the old ways."

"As long as they don't use magic, they are left to themselves. He's allowing the Old Religion back as well, and worship of the Triple Goddess, but no magic." He looked down at his hands a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts and then he frowned up at Merlin. "He's not quite his father but I'm worried."

That didn't sound like Arthur. He could be incredibly stubborn at times but he'd always striven to keep his word, even when he'd had to defy his father to do it. Arthur had too much honour not to try at least. But if Gaius was right, Merlin's job would be even harder.

"The cabbage-head promised me he'd bring it back. He promised."

"He thinks he's doing the right thing," Gaius said.

It wasn't the right thing. Merlin knew it and Arthur knew it and so did Gaius. Angry, Merlin slammed down the vial he'd held in his hand onto the table, too much force for such a delicate thing, and it shattered into a thousand pieces. The sound of it echoed sharp and startled them both.

Merlin began to feel prickles of pain on his skin, and as he looked down, his palm was dotted with blood; there were shards of glass embedded there.

When Gaius tutted and started to get up, Merlin waved him away. " _Swíðe."_

As the vial reformed and the greenish liquid floated back into it, Gaius looked almost horrified. He twisted around to check to make sure no one had seen. As he turned back, he said, "What do you think you are doing?"

But Merlin just shook his head. "The time for hiding is over."

"It's too dangerous."

Defiant, Merlin whispered again. " _Thurhhæl."_ He stretched and curled his hand into a fist, his palm healed with magic. "The Sidhe mocked me when I told them Arthur would keep his word. Kept reminding me of Uther's promises, and said that Arthur was no better. It would seem they were more right than they knew."

Gaius didn't seem pleased, tried to defend what Arthur was doing. "He's grieving and in grief, he's lashing out."

"Like his father."

Gaius had the grace to look ashamed. "Yes."

"Well, I'm not going to let that clotpole ruin everything. He's not his father and I'll be damned if I'll let him turn into Uther."

Scowling, Gaius stood up, and hobbled over to him. Folding his arms across his chest, looking as grave and worried and exasperated as Merlin had ever seen him, he said, "And how are you going to do that? He hates magic, he fears it, and he blames it for your death."

Arthur could be stubborn but he had nothing on Merlin. Merlin would have to get through to him before it was too late, for all their sakes.

"I've hidden my magic for too long in the shadows, and all it did was bring destruction and death. It's time to show everyone just how beautiful magic can be."

Gaius's mouth opened, and for a moment, he didn't say anything, just stood there. Then he reached out, grabbing onto Merlin and giving him a little shake. "No, you can't. He'll kill you."

"I'd like to see him try." Merlin patted Gaius's hand and then stepped back, giving him a sad smile as he did so. "Don't worry so much, Gaius. I gave my life for him once. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

He turned away, walked over to the window and opened it. Fresh air wafted in, and the bustling sounds of life below, a reminder of just what was at stake. As he looked out, Merlin could see the town and part of the castle and the Pendragon pennants flying high. It was home, he was home and he'd be damned if he'd let Arthur turn it into ruin because of fear. He'd had enough of fear and hiding and lies.

"But there is more at stake than just my life. I have to do this. Not just for Arthur's sake. But for mine and yours, and for the sake of every magic user in Camelot, maybe all of Albion." Lifting his chin, resolved, he turned back to Gaius. "I'm going to bring magic back whether Arthur likes it or not."


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin had been Arthur's manservant for a decade; he may have been a peasant at the start but he'd seen enough to know that he couldn't just march up to Arthur at court and demand that he reinstate magic. Any capitulation on Arthur's part in public would be seen as a sign of weakness. He'd just dig in his heels and that would make it a hundred times harder.

Requesting a private audience seemed the best solution, but Gaius was being particularly reticent to help. Fear had driven the old man for as long as Merlin had known him and he doubted that he'd be able to change Gaius's mind at this late date. Merlin didn't blame him. After all, that same fear had kept Gaius alive through the years of Uther's reign.

Besides, if Arthur were ignoring Gaius, a request might be seen as overstepping his bounds. He didn't want to make things any worse for Gaius.

The knights were protective, too. At the Rising Sun, Merlin tried to get close enough to speak to them, even offered to buy them ale, but Camlann was still fresh in most minds and Arthur's near demise had them on edge. They looked at his friendly gestures as suspicious and they certainly didn't gossip about the king.

He didn't dare approach Gwen. She was almost as isolated as Arthur since Camlann.

Frustrated, he tried talking to Arthur's manservant. He hated the very idea of Arthur taking on someone else but it was only to be expected with Merlin gone. But George, dressed in the Camelot colours, refused to even listen and set him packing.

The old Arthur would have hated it all, the insular court, the isolation, the unwanted protection. They'd gone off enough times, even after he'd been made king, scampering out of Camelot on some pretext just to get away from the suffocating protocols, the endless expectations. It had weighed them down, especially Arthur, and he'd used any excuse to escape.

Now, he seemed not to care.

But things began to look up when, in the morning, Arthur almost ran him down riding out through the gate.

It was glorious, although it hurt like hell to see him again.

Blond hair shining and Pendragon red swathing him. There was the gleam of armour and the golden crest on his cloak and for a moment, Merlin felt that nothing had changed, that they were still together, master and servant, king and sorcerer, always and forever friends.

But then Merlin looked closer. There were dark circles under Arthur's eyes as if he hadn't slept well and a sharp set to his mouth. Frowning, too, as he urged his horse faster. He wasn't looking back, didn't seem to care if anyone was following. He looked more like he was trying to escape something and bringing whatever drove him on with him.

It couldn't continue.

Merlin stepped out from the crowd, raised his hand, and shouted, "Sire, Merlin wanted me to…."

Stiffening, Arthur slowed down, turned, looking around with rough hope for just a moment. Then the light in his eyes died as he saw Merlin or rather Emrys standing there. His face hardened into a savage scowl and he shook his head, then rode off, clattering down the stone path at a breakneck clip. His knights rode past, clearly struggling to keep up.

"…talk with you." Merlin said. With Arthur riding away, it would seem Merlin's heart was tearing itself apart to follow; his hand pushed against his chest to keep it from rushing after him. And there were tears that he had to blink away before he made a complete fool of himself.  

As he stood there, the crowd thinning around him, he was surprised to see Percival riding back up the hill.

When he stopped next to Merlin and leaned down, he said, "You should know better than to go shouting Merlin's name in the marketplace. Since you are a stranger here, it will be forgiven once, but let this be a warning to you."

It was good to see Percival defending Arthur so well. At least the loyalty of the knights was above reproach. Letting out a relieved sigh, Merlin said, "I have a message for the king from Merlin. I've tried to arrange an audience to deliver it but no one will help me."

"Merlin is dead." Percy's face was hard, his eyes cold. A good friend and one who was mourning the loss.

"I know. If he were still alive, I would not be here."

That seemed to satisfy Percy. "You were at the Rising Sun." He leaned back, for a moment looking down toward the road where Arthur and the others had disappeared and said, "Tell me your message and if I think it suitable, I'll deliver it myself."

Merlin chose his words carefully. "Tell the king that Merlin would want him to keep his promises, even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones."

Percy seemed puzzled by that. Perhaps he had expected something else, a request for money or some kind of favour, not a just simple reminder about promises. "Is that all?"

"The king will understand the message." Merlin gave him a sad smile. All this talk of promises was making it hard to breathe for the grief of what he'd lost.

"Emrys, isn't it?" As Merlin gathered himself together — he didn't dare breakdown in front of Percival, he gave a little nod. "Anything else?"

Merlin said, "I would like to talk with the king but if that is not possible, then tell him his promises will be kept one way or another."

Percy scowled at that, looking down at Merlin, searching for danger signs. Merlin couldn't blame him. They'd seen enough death and ruination to be wary of even the most innocuous of people.

"Is that a threat?" Percival said.

"No, merely an observation." Merlin shook his head, raising his hands a little to show that he meant no harm before dropped them to his side.

It seemed to mollify Percival. "Very well. But keep in mind that the knights of Camelot now know you. We will be watching."

Merlin stepped back, gave him a short bow and said, "I would expect nothing less, Sir Percival."

* * *

Merlin didn't know what to expect, but Gwen summoning him wasn't it.

Wearing his best outfit, the one with embroidery and power woven into it, the one the Sidhe had given him, he stood there, waiting.

Gwen swept into the council room, clothed in red velvet and hard looks, and sat down at the table's head. She looked every inch a queen and ready to give judgment, a far cry from the stammering girl he'd met so long ago.

The suspicion in her eyes, the way she was watching him, the wary look of meeting a stranger for the first time, was not what he'd ever wanted to see. But it was to be expected.

Taking a shuddering breath to ease his misery, he gave a shallow bow and waited.

Letting the silence grow, watching him standing there, finally she said, "Emrys, you have told Sir Percival that you have a message for the king. I am ready to hear it, and if I am satisfied as to your truthfulness, I may relay it to him."

Merlin lifted his chin, readying himself for whatever might come. "Your Majesty, Merlin would want me to remind King Arthur of promises that the king made to him."

She frowned at that. But she didn't seem surprised.

"Merlin died a month ago, saving my husband. I don't remember Merlin asking for anything, except for day off now and again." For a moment, her eyes turned fond and then hardening again, she said, "We have had enough of deceptions. Tread carefully."

"The king promised Merlin that he would allow magic back in Camelot."

"That is not possible." But she said it without anger, as if she'd known what he was going to say ahead of time.

Realising that Gwen and Arthur must have discussed it, or rather Gwen discussed it and Arthur just yelled — he was good at that when he didn't want to face things, Merlin said, "I know it is against the law. For too long, those with magic have had to hide who they are. But now it is time for magic to be accepted back in Camelot. And the king said that he would."

Putting both hands on the table, pressing down as she leaned forward, she said, "Arthur would never allow such a thing. He was adamant when he came back from Avalon. He blames magic for Merlin's death."

"And yet magic did not kill him." Shaking his head, unable to believe that Arthur could be so much of a dollop-head that he'd think magic was to blame, he said, "Merlin knew that his was a dangerous journey, that he was always at risk. He told me many times of his hopes and his fears of what would happen once the king found out about him."

He stepped closer, lifting his hand to her but as he did so, she jerked back, wary. Behind him, the guards seemed to clatter forward, waiting for the instant when he'd make a wrong move but she gestured them back.

Letting his hand fall to his side, Merlin said, "He hoped that you would help him. He often spoke of you, of your gentleness, of your understanding. The early days when you were both servants were some of the happiest of his life."

Looking as if she thought he'd been trying to manipulate her when all he wanted to do was re-connect somehow, in a cold and furious voice, she said, "He never spoke to me of you, Emrys. Never once mentioned you. Why is that?"

He felt as if he'd been slapped.

But her anger helped to remind him of what boundaries there were. She could never know him again and it was useless to try.

Gathering his courage, he said, "There are certain things that are forbidden in Camelot, and his abilities and mine were… are similar. We are kin."

"Abilities?" She was still frowning, her voice sharp.

There was nothing to be done. He'd have to show her, he'd have to tell her, but after all this time, it was still hard. He was so used to hiding that it was like slogging through frozen mud to open up.

"Merlin's magic. Surely the king must have told you of it."

"I realised that he had magic after Merlin helped us to destroy the Saxon army. And Arthur confirmed it when he returned." She stared at him, looking as if she wanted to reach past all his barriers and get to the heart of what he wanted. "Are you saying that you have magic as well?"

Nodding, he said, "Magic has always been a part of the world, much to the dismay of the Pendragons. Any attempt to destroy it usually has grave consequences." Then he gazed at her, and said, calm and decided and focused, "Yes, I have magic."

Again, she wasn't surprised.

"You do know that magic, use of enchantments or sorcery, is forbidden on pain of death."

Merlin just shrugged. He'd been dealing with his imminent death for years. "Merlin used magic every day to save the king, to save you and the people of Camelot. Would you condemn him for it?"

But before she could answer, from behind him, the council door swung open and Arthur marched into the room. The guards closed the doors behind him, leaving them alone.

If anything, he looked worse than the last time Merlin had seen him. His eyes were sunken and he looked as if he hadn't slept since Camlann. Close up, he was thinner, too, and there was an air of despair about him that Merlin hadn't seen since Uther died.

"Gwen, I…" He glanced at Merlin, still walking past him, and then he must have recognised who he was. Arthur suddenly stopped, scowling at him. "You!"

Anger boiling off him, one hand, gloved, was restless on the pommel of his sword. He looked every inch a warrior.

"How dare you insinuate that I don’t keep my word."

Merlin's chest hurt with looking at him. He wanted to kneel at Arthur's feet and beg for forgiveness, to hug the prat and tell him everything, to wail his relief, call Arthur a dollop-head and berate him for being so stubborn, to sit quietly in a forest clearing, the campfire burning bright, and just listen to his best friend breathe.

But he could do none of those things, ever again.

Tears caught in his throat, it took him a moment to reply. "You've not kept your promise to Merlin."

That only seemed to infuriate Arthur further. He stepped closer, glared at Merlin.

"I will throw you into the dungeons for your insolence."

Behind Arthur, Gwen said, "Arthur, at least hear him out."

Merlin sent her a grateful smile, then turned back to Arthur. "I am here to say to you what Merlin would have if he had lived."

Scowl deepening, his face hard as stone, Arthur said, "Why should you know anything of him? Until today, I'd never heard of you. For all I know, you are some kind of charlatan after a reward. There have been enough of those."

For a moment, Merlin had to wonder what else had been going on since Camlann but it wasn't important enough to worry about. For now, Merlin's first priority was getting Arthur to listen. He needed to find a way to let him know just how hard it was for Merlin and those with magic to live in Camelot. And if he could tell Arthur all that was in his heart, so much the better.

"When he was sick of it, when he couldn't stand it anymore, the lying, the hiding, or playing the fool, when he grew so lonely that he thought about leaving Camelot and never returning, he'd come to me. He'd tell me, not things that would hurt you or the kingdom, but how he felt."

"I don't want to hear this." Arthur looked as if he'd been struck.

"He knew he could never tell you of those things, of how he loved it in Camelot but that he was terrified, too, every day. Did you never see the pain in his eyes or the doubt? Or did he hide things too well?"

"You have no right." Arthur slammed his hand onto the table, the sound cracking like thunder. Fury in his voice, loud and full of pain, he said, "Why should he talk to you and not to me? I would have listened."

"Would you have? You arrested him often enough, threatened him often enough to put doubt in his mind about you listening to anything he had to say." Only a month ago, his reaction when Merlin told him he was a sorcerer had not been exactly welcoming, either. But by the end, it had almost been alright. Would have been except for the Sidhe and the price they demanded for Arthur's life.

At least this time, Arthur had the good sense to look ashamed.

Giving him a sad smile, Merlin said, "We are the same, Merlin and I. We have had to hide who we are every single day. He couldn't show you who he really was and it was killing him. Every… single… day."

Breathing hard, his fist busy on the sword's pommel, Arthur looked overwhelmed, looked as if every word were a blow and him defenceless against it.

"And yet he loved you, you know. More than he should have. It got him into trouble, rescuing you from whatever mischief you'd got yourself into but he didn't care. You were everything to him." More softly, he said, "Don't let his sacrifice be in vain. Be the great king he knew you could be."

For a moment, Arthur just stood there, leaning against the table, looking down at his hands curling and uncurling. Then he seemed to gather himself together. "What do you want?"

"For you to keep your promise to him. To bring magic back to Camelot."

He must have known what Merlin was going to say. But Arthur was a stubborn man and he was grieving. Somehow he must have turned it all around in his head. "Magic killed him."

"No, fear killed him," Merlin said. "He was so afraid of you finding out and hating him for it that he would do almost anything to avoid it and he made poor choices because of it. You were everything to him. You above all else, no matter what the cost. Always you."

"I can't…." Shaking his head, face morphing from grief to stone, he said, "Magic killed him. And if you think I'm going to let magic contaminate Camelot on your word, think again."

So be it. If reason wouldn't work, then Merlin would just have to show him.

"You are a stubborn man, Arthur Pendragon. But Merlin was just as stubborn. And I would do no less than him." He stepped back. He didn't want to be within sword's reach, just in case Arthur reacted badly. "He told me to help you when the time came. To teach you about the joys of magic. You have seen much of the pain but none of the beauty."

And with that, he lifted his hand and said, "That lesson begins now. _Léohte_."

In the room, there were suddenly a dozen balls of light, blue and beautiful, floating in the air. A deliberate choice, similar to the one he'd conjured for Arthur so long ago when he'd gone after the Morteus flower. He'd hoped that Arthur would remember them, would see them as good rather than the evil he'd always thought magic to be.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Arthur looked thunderstruck, his frown so deep it seemed to cut into the bone, but then something changed. There was no recognition there, only fury. "Sorcerer. I might have known." He shouted out, "Guards!"

Merlin had to admit that he'd expected Arthur's reaction. Resigned, he said, "You were always too pig-headed for your own good."

"How dare you. Guards!" When the two men came scrambling back in, Merlin could have overwhelmed them. It would have been easy enough to knock them out and escape. But escape wasn't his plan.

"You promised you would bring magic back in Camelot." He tried not to sound disappointed but then Arthur could be a stubborn arse at times. "You gave Merlin your word as he lay dying in your arms. Have you forgotten so quickly?"

"How did you…?" Arthur's mouth was open, looking as if he were gasping for air. As Merlin was marched off, he shouted, "You will be executed for this."

"I think not." Merlin called back.

And as the doors closed, he could hear Gwen talking softly and Arthur arguing, raging about it all.

Merlin guessed that it had gone as well as could be expected.

At least Arthur hadn't tried to skewer him with his sword.


	13. Chapter 13

The dungeons still stank. He'd been there often enough over the years that he knew how things went, where the best — and worst — cells were, how the mice would scamper away when a prisoner was first thrust into the straw and how they'd come back later to feast on crumbs.

When the door clanked shut, for a moment, Merlin shuddered, memories of his past crowding at him. In this place, he'd cower for hours, always afraid of what might happen next, worried that Arthur or his father might discover his secret and kill him or worse yet, have Arthur be disappointed in him.

But now it wasn't so bad. He knew he could get away easily enough. He could hide in the shadows, even escape to a neighbouring kingdom where sorcery was more welcome but that wasn't his plan.

Instead he was going to bring magic into the light whether Arthur liked it or not.

In a way, it was freeing.

He waited until the guards walked away and then, with a flash of eyes and a cleansing spell, the cell was a good deal less filthy, the bedding softer, the odours of mould and decay gone. He might have to stay in the dungeons a while and it never hurt to be comfortable.

Once it was common knowledge that Emrys was a sorcerer, he knew most of his belongings at the Rising Sun would be searched and then destroyed, either by Arthur's men or the inn's owner. Uther had given the townspeople an unhealthy fear of magical contamination. The herbs and potions would probably be gone, too; he'd have to check but they were likely buried in the cesspit or scattered to the winds. At least, he'd hidden the gold in a safe place.

He'd hoped to keep from making Arthur look a fool by seeking a private audience, but if the clotpole wanted to ignore him, Merlin wasn't going to play that game. The stakes were too high.

His next move was a simple one. Prove that magic could be used for good.

Letting things settle down a bit, he was contemplating walking out and doing something simple yet beautiful, scattering butterflies or flowers amongst the townspeople or maybe shaping a firepit's smoke into the Pendragon crest, when the warning bell started to clang.

He could hear shouting in the courtyard and a scramble of running guards and townspeople toward the gate. It didn't sound like an attack, the courtyard would be filled with horses and a flurry of red capes and chainmail if it were but it seemed like they'd need help, whatever it was.

Unlocking the cell door, striding out through a lesser passage that the guards tended to avoid — although in future, he'd have to remind Arthur of their lax judgment, he found himself just outside the city walls. The exit was blocked, of course, with stones and iron bars, but it was easy enough for him to open.

He scrambled up through the bushes, then started off on a run toward the noise.

When he got nearer to the gate, he was horrified.

Part of the wall had collapsed. They'd obviously been repairing it. He could see the tools and some of the scaffolding but that had gone down like twigs under the weight of all that rock. There were wails of pain and not a few ominous silences where some of the bodies lay.

Not hesitating, he pushed through the crowd, shouting for Gaius and telling them that he'd been a physician's apprentice and knew something of healing. There was so much chaos that they didn't seem to notice who he was, just let him through.

The first person he reached was dead. He tried not to think about that, just moved onto the next. The man was breathing, groaning in pain; his arm was broken and one leg was underneath a huge stone block, and for a second, Merlin didn't know what to do.

Then his training kicked in. Leaning down, he pulled the arm firmly and he could feel the bone slipping back into place. His hand laying over the wound, he whispered, " _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár._ " And the bloody gash closed, clean, and with only a pinkish mark to show that the man had ever been injured.

The boulder was more problematic. He'd have to lift it, in plain sight of everyone. He knew that it was what he wanted, for magic to be used freely, but a lifetime of hiding had scarred him. He shivered, then closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out again.

If he couldn't do it, if he couldn't let everyone see that magic could be used for good, it would all have been for nothing. Much as he wanted to be brave, he still feared what Arthur would do.

But as the man groaned again, Merlin opened his eyes, squared his shoulders and lifted his hand. " _Abregdan, stán!"_

A pulse of magic and the boulder was flying away, breaking into smaller pieces as it crashed into an empty field far from the wounded. But he didn't pay attention to the sudden sharp whispers around him. He was too busy trying to keep the man from bleeding to death.

The man's leg was torn open and blood was spurting fast. Once the pressure had been removed, there was nothing to stop him from bleeding out. Merlin didn't hesitate.

" _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár._ " As the blood slowed, seemed to seep rather than spurt, he looked closer. The leg was broken in several places and he wasn't sure he'd be able to heal him enough for him to walk again but he had to try. " _Bánbryce,_ _þurhhæl_."

With that, the man under his hand started screaming, even as the bones aligned themselves and merged together.

Someone grabbed him from behind, and Merlin was roughly shoved aside, a woman screeching at him. Then she knelt next to the bleeding man, weeping and begging for him to live. She must have been important to him because the man whimpered a bit and then quieted a moment, before gasping for air again and moaning in pain.

"You have to let me finish. He won't survive, otherwise." Merlin begged her.

Shaking her head, her face wild with grief and terror, she said, "No magic. The king will kill Rolf for it."

Uther's paranoia had buried itself deep into Camelot. Merlin knew he'd have a long road ahead but he had to start somewhere. And every journey began with a single step.

Trying to reassure her, he reached out with one bloody hand but she jerked back, trembling, terrified.

"Arthur is not his father. He will blame me, not Rolf. He'll understand that it was all my doing. Please, let me save him." Rolf let out another whimper, and as she crumpled into tears, he said, "Please, I promise you that I'll tell the king that it was me and me alone."

Looking down at Rolf, then back up at Merlin, she must have seen something in his eyes because she gave him a slight, frightened nod.

With that, Merlin dove back to Rolf's side. " _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár._ " The blood slowed, then stopped and the muscles began to knit back together. " _Lácne._ " The flap of skin moved to cover the man's wound and instead of screaming, he was breathing heavily, groaning, but no longer with such agony. One final time. " _Thurhhæl._ " And the flesh scarred over and grew pink.

As he watched Rolf heal, in one small corner of his mind, he realised that his abilities had grown. He'd never had been able to heal like that before. Perhaps the Sidhe had changed him in more than just appearance; that thought alone was a torment. For if only he'd had the ability to heal injuries so easily when Arthur was dying, all the pain and anguish of their final journey might have been avoided. Instead of being thought of a stranger, Merlin would have been at Arthur's side until the end of their days.

But that knowledge, that grief, was for another time. When he was alone and could give in to such bitterness.

With her still staring at him, Merlin said, "I'm not sure that he should be walking away from this any time soon. The bones may be fragile yet. Have Gaius look over him to make sure that he's healing properly."

Merlin stood, wanting to help the next victim but she grabbed his hand, whispering, "Thank you." Then she turned back to Rolf and started crying.

He didn't have time to set her mind at rest. There were others in need of his help.

A small girl had been hit by debris, and while she was just stunned, a large bruise blossoming on one cheek, Merlin gave her a little smile. " _Thurhhæle."_ And she sighed at that, blinking up at him and asking where her mother was. A moment later, the girl was swept up into a woman's arms and they both burst into tears and kisses.

Merlin reassured the woman that the girl would be okay but that she should be looked over by the court physician just in case.

Hunting for the other injured who were scattered among the debris, Merlin helped them one by one, whispered healing spells and reassurance: an older man with blood pouring down his face, a gash, easily mended; a woman with a broken collarbone; an adolescent with hands torn from trying to shield his face as the rocks collapsed.

Finally, looking to see what else he could do, he realised that Gaius had already arrived and was tending to a mother and her child. Another man, someone he'd not seen before, in physician's garb with a container of potions next to him, was helping a man covered in blood, but seemed to have the situation well in hand.

Glancing around, he found that the worst of it had already been taken care of. A few of the bodies had been pulled out from the debris and the townspeople were swarming over the less injured.

One body was still buried under the wreckage, and Merlin lifted his hand and let more stones fly over to the empty field. Underneath the man had been crushed, a fast death but still there were wails of grief echoing off the walls as people huddled around him.

It always hurt to know that someone's life was cut short so tragically but there was nothing more he could do. Tired beyond belief, he slumped a bit against one of the stones, and wiped his bloody hands on his tunic.

So much for showing magic could be beautiful.

He thought about returning to his cell. He'd had enough for one day but it was not to be. As he looked around, people, those not taking care of the wounded or the dead, were coming closer, their voices raised in questions and worry, an uproar of words - sorcerer, magic, kingly justice, banned, and surprisingly one or two urging him to run.

Behind them, pushing their way through the crowds, were Arthur and the knights. Chainmail gleaming in the sunlight, their cloaks unfurling the colours of red and gold and power, the sharp silver of weaponry pointing his way, they looked every inch the most formidable fighters in Camelot.

He tried to ignore the swords, tried not to flinch at the furious look on Arthur's face. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Helping." Trying to stay calm, knowing that matching anger with anger would only make things worse, knowing, too, that this was a perfect opportunity to show the townspeople that magic could be used for good, Merlin said, "I thought you might welcome it. Some of your people were in badly in need of healing."

As Merlin spoke, Arthur was glaring at him, shaking his head. "Not with magic."

The cabbage-head was unbelievable. Merlin couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. "You would rather that they died?"

From behind him, Merlin could hear the sudden silence of the crowd at his question. Arthur must have realised it, too, and while he might be stubborn as an ass, he'd been raised in the court, with its politics and back-stabbing and manipulation. He must have known how it sounded to the people listening to them both.

"Do not twist my words, Emrys. You know magic is forbidden and yet you continue to defy the law." He lifted his hand and Percival came forward, grabbing onto one arm. Another knight, one he didn't know well, took hold of the other. "Send him back to his cell and double the guard."

"A fair and just king would not have such a law." As they started to drag him away, he said, "Some of your people might have died here except for magic, but you are too blind to see that."

Arthur ignored him. "Percival, you and Bors will oversee the guards, just in case. We wouldn't want him to slip out again before his trial."

As Merlin was marched back toward the castle, he could see Arthur walking through the crowd, talking here and there to individuals, looking at the debris and those still alive and the corpses on the ground. Even from a distance, he could see some amongst the townspeople who were sending Merlin pitying looks and then muttering to each other, shaking their heads.

It would appear that his help hadn't been so unwanted after all.

* * *

The cell hadn't changed. Percival pushed him inside and then locked the door. The other knight, Bors, was talking to the guards, no doubt berating them for letting Merlin go, but Percival stood there, watching him.

"Do I know you?" he said.

Merlin hadn't shared secrets with him, not like Lancelot, but he'd always found Percival to be quietly perceptive, more so than people gave him credit for. Shaking his head, he said, "I've lived outside of the capital for many years. I often talked with Merlin whenever I was here; he was kin after all. Perhaps that would explain it?"

"I didn't know he had family in Camelot."

"We kept it a secret." When Percival was staring at his face, frowning as if trying to place him, Merlin knew he had to divert him somehow. Gaius had seen beneath the mask but he would keep quiet about it. For Percival to realise who he really was, would be disastrous for them all.

Sick of the lies, nevertheless, Merlin said, "My cousin, Merlin's father, was a dragonlord. Uther was highly suspicious of such gifts and tried to hunt Balinor down and kill him. Had he known about us, about Merlin and me, Uther would have killed us both." Unable to look at Percival a second longer, Merlin stared instead down at his hands, still filthy with dried blood. "I tried to reason with Merlin once Arthur became king, but in the end, fear ruled him. And we have all seen the price he paid for it."

"He was a good man."

Merlin looked up at that. "Even with magic?"

"Merlin used it to protect us all." Percival nodded, smiling a little at the memories. "Besides, Lancelot and Gwaine both trusted him and that was good enough for me."

It hurt to hear it. He missed both of them so fiercely, and while he'd come to terms with Lance's death, he'd never been truly honest with Gwaine, much as he deserved it, and now he never would. Throat clogged with tears, he said, "Merlin loved them. They were like brothers to him and he spoke highly of you as well."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Percival straightened, said with all solemnity, "Much as I disagree with the law, I will do my duty and obey my king, no matter his command."

"I would expect no less of you." Arthur could always inspire such loyalty in those around him and he was glad that some small remnant of their original band remained. "We both have Arthur's best interests at heart. Even if he doesn't appreciate it yet."

"He may still order your execution." Percival, ever honourable, didn't seem to want to leave him much hope.

But it didn't matter. Merlin had no intention of dying just yet.

"He can try."


	14. Chapter 14

At least Arthur let him rest overnight. The food was abysmal but Merlin had tasted worse and it was filling enough.

When a cadre of guards came to escort him to the Great Hall, Percival was apologetic but still put manacles on him, then had the guards surround Merlin before they began to climb the stairs.

It would seem that Arthur was taking no chances with a sorcerer. It didn't matter that Merlin could easily escape. It was appearance that counted for now.

When they arrived, Merlin could see Gaius amongst the crowd, another dressed in physician's robes next to him, and several of those Merlin had healed the day before, along with their families. Needless to say, most of them looked terrified, and with good reason. Uther would have killed them all.

Gwen was seated next to Arthur; she looked grave, frowning as Merlin came in, but it was Arthur who seemed to be avoiding looking at him, who was instead scowling at the sunshine bright against the window.

Merlin had seen that look many times — often when Arthur was thinking of Camelot and duty, and not liking the answer.

Finally, as Merlin was marched up to the steps before the twin thrones, the guards melting off to the sides and only Percival beside him, the room seemed to shift as Arthur turned, staring down at him.

There was a long, long pause.

Then Arthur, his hands white-knuckled on the throne's arms, said, "Emrys, use of magic is strictly forbidden on pain of death. You know this. And there were witnesses to your use of magic, including myself." He was giving nothing away, his eyes flat, mouth grim. Only his fingers pale against the dark wood showed how upset he was. "Do you have anything to say before I pass judgment?"

"I do not deny it." Merlin bowed his head a moment, then straightened, lifting his chin, his stance immovable as stone. He was not going to back down, not about this. He'd waited too long, been too afraid to push Arthur when he'd been merely Merlin, the fool, the clumsy servant. But he was Emrys now, for good or ill. "These people needed help and I used whatever tools were available to me to save them. A physician uses herbs and knowledge; a knight uses a sword, and I use magic."

Behind him, in the crowd spanning the hall, Merlin could hear desperate whispers, and a few soft cries, as if people were trying not to call attention to themselves, but grieving as quietly as they could.

He couldn't let it go on.

Taking a step closer, he knelt down, one knee on the cold floor, and then looking up, hoping for understanding at least in this one thing, with a soft, gentle voice, he said, "Sire, please do not punish them for my actions. I know in the past, those who were involved in any way with magic would be executed but it is I and I alone who is to blame. They are innocent."

Arthur looked startled, as if he hadn't expected a sorcerer to have so much compassion for others. For a moment, his face softened. "My people will not suffer for it. You are the one being judged today. They are here as witness only."

There was a collective sigh, a dozen or more breaths let out in relief, and he could almost feel the anxiety of the crowd begin to fade away. As Merlin stood, his manacles clinking, he said, "I thank you, Your Majesty."

"Some have come forward to plead clemency for you. That several might have died had you not interfered." Sharp, biting, spitting out the words as if pulled from him, Arthur glanced first at Gwen, then stared hard at Gaius before turning toward the man standing next to Merlin's old mentor. "Blaise, my court physician, has said as much."

He'd worried about that in the long night; pleading for Emrys's life might have got Gaius killed under Uther. But Arthur was fair-minded, even when he was being a stubborn dollop-head. That the new physician was willing to speak up for him even though Emrys was a sorcerer, and was not afraid of retribution, would indicate that maybe Arthur was listening after all.

"Magic can be a great gift."

He sent Arthur a tentative smile, hoping that perhaps he was more receptive to hearing what Merlin had to say now with others backing him up.

His hopes were dashed a moment later. Arthur wasn't having any of it.

"It can also kill in the blink of an eye."

So much for understanding.

"As can a sword, my lord, but it protects as well."

He raised his hands, palms up, pleading, the manacles rough against his skin. His voice, too, was rough, choked with worry. If Arthur didn't think what had happened yesterday was enough, Merlin wasn't sure what else he could do to change Arthur's mind. But he had to try. "Too long, magic has been forbidden. If Merlin were here, he…."

"Enough!" Arthur slapped one hand hard against the throne's wooden arm. The crack of it echoed loud in the sudden silence. Then he stood, walking to the edge of the dais, looking down with thunderous finality.

"Emrys, because you saved lives yesterday, I will overlook your crime in this one instance. You are to leave Camelot and never return or else you forfeit your life." Scowling, the frown so deep it seemed etched into his skin, he said, "Consider this fair warning. I will not be so lenient in future."

Then Arthur gestured the knights forward. "Percival, you and Bors will take several guards with you and escort the prisoner to the border. Make sure he doesn't return."

Nodding, Percival was firm, grabbing onto Merlin's arm and starting to pull him down the hall.

But Merlin wasn't having any of it. Arthur could be such a supercilious clotpole at times, no matter how much Merlin loved him, and if he had to push, he would. Arthur's life would be forfeit if he didn't, and just as importantly, he couldn't fail all of those waiting for magic's return.

"And what of your promise to Merlin?" He shouted, starting to struggle a little as he was dragged further and further from his idiot king.

"Shut him up." A leather glove cut off Merlin's protest, and as he was pulled away, he could hear Arthur shouting down the long, cold room, "If he says one more word, gag him. I've had enough of his lies."

As the doors started to close behind them, Merlin twisted back to see Gwen talking rapidly with Arthur and Gaius watching him, looking very worried.

But it didn't matter.

Merlin would be back and then they would see who had the last word after all.

* * *

Not wanting to ride for hours with a gag in his mouth, Merlin stayed quiet through most of it. It was a solemn enough group; Percival was never one for talk and the guards and Bors just kept glaring at Merlin.

When they finally reached the border, Percival unlocked the manacles, shoving them in his saddlebag, then as Merlin slid off the horse and stood just this side of Camelot, he said, "The king was very clear in his command. If you are found within our borders again, anyone will have the right to kill you and no questions asked."

"Thank you for the warning, sir knight." Percival only nodded, but as they turned their horses back toward the citadel, Merlin said, "I'm sorry about Gwaine."

Percival blinked at that, his mouth twisted in pain as he stared down at Merlin. "Did you know that the witch used magic on him? Tortured him so badly that he died of it."

"Her hatred drove Morgana mad." Merlin stepped closer, his hand resting on the horse's neck. "In the wrong hands, magic can be a truly evil thing but in the right ones, it can be a wondrous gift. Merlin did all he could for Arthur and for Camelot, and I would, too, given the chance."

"The king will never agree." Percival shook his head, frowning down at the ground and then back toward the citadel a moment before turning to Merlin. He looked like he might say something else but instead, just gave him a little nod. "Good luck, Emrys."

Then he rode away, the others fast behind him. They didn't look back.

Merlin waited for the horses to disappear, for the dust to settle, then started walking toward Camelot.


	15. Chapter 15

He didn't know where else to go. Gaius, at least, would have some idea of hiding places and perhaps still had some of Merlin's old clothes. He couldn't keep wearing the same thing day after day, no matter how easily magic cleaned it. Besides, he missed him, his wise council, his endless tirades when Merlin had done something stupid, his gentle attempts to ease Merlin's misery, even that raised eyebrow of his.

Sneaking into Gaius's rooms was easy enough. Merlin had had plenty of practice over the years. He tried to be quiet about it He didn’t want to startle the old man but he needn’t have worried. Gaius knew him better than that. He was waiting for him.

“You are too predictable, my boy. If Arthur knew you were here, he’d kill you.” The eyebrow was back, and Gaius looked both worried and exasperated.

“If he can catch me.” Merlin gave Gaius a little smile, then sat down, reaching for an apple. He hadn’t eaten for a while; game had been scarce and all Merlin had had on the way back to Camelot were a few berries and some wild mushrooms. Gauis, frowning a bit, found some left-over bread and a bit of meat and thrust it into Merlin’s waiting hand. Munching away, trying not to shovel everything in his mouth at once, he said, “I’ll need a place to stay, preferably one that Arthur doesn’t know about.”

When Gaius just gave him another sour look, Merlin said, “I’m done with hiding. I just don’t want to implicate you. Arthur might not be his father but he’s being an idiot at the moment.”

“Besides the dragon’s cave, there is a small storeroom rarely used, under the castle. I doubt they’d look there.” Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, Gaius said, “But I don’t know what you hope to accomplish. If anything were to change Arthur’s mind, it would have been your help with the wounded when the wall collapsed.”

“I know. Percy warned me that to return was to be executed.” Finishing off the last of the bread, Merlin just shrugged. “Don’t worry so much, Gaius. I’m just going to show Arthur the beauty of magic and not get killed in the process. How hard can that be?”

Gaius just let out another sigh and shook his head.

* * *

Rain came in the night, heavy enough to create large puddles here and there amongst the cobblestones, but by morning, the clouds were gone, the air was fresh and cool, the sky above a perfect blue. Merlin, hidden among the trees, waited nearby until people were awake and milling about, doing their morning shopping, gossiping with neighbours, the knights beginning to walk toward the training ground. In the distance, he could see Percival talking with Sir Leon. Before Camlann, Arthur would have been there, too, but he was nowhere in sight.

It didn’t matter. Arthur would hear about it soon enough.

“ _Anhornas, læce._ ”

As the water in the puddles began to rise, forming fantastical shapes in the sunlight, a herd of unicorns seemed to dance in the air. Soaring, diving back into the puddles and then coming out again as if joyful, flying past each other, nuzzling and laughing and tossing their manes, they were bright and clear as crystal.

In the street, there was sudden silence, the townspeople staring at the sight, frozen in disbelief. But then there was a shock of laughter as the children, those whose parents could not grab them fast enough, surged forward, trying to grab onto the shapes, shouting happily when they caught a unicorn, giggling as the water soaked them through. Dissolving, then reforming into smaller shapes, the unicorns seemed to dance away and up again, playful as they soared over the youngsters’ heads.

It only lasted a moment or two. Then growing louder, wails of frustrated children began to rise, as one by one they were yanked back, away from the sight, their parents clamouring about the dangers, the rest of the townsfolk arguing among themselves about who could have caused such a thing. Distant but growing were the sounds of chainmail clattering down the hill and the shrill of swords being drawn.

Still hidden, he knew that he didn’t want an innocent to be accused of magic but he didn’t want to be caught just yet, either.

As the knights neared the lower gate, Merlin stepped forward, making sure that he’d be identified. He was still far enough away that they’d not be able to reach him quickly. But as he cleared the trees, they wheeled toward him.

Raising his hand, he gestured toward the flying unicorns. “ _Behwierfaþ_.” And with a bright flash of his eyes, the shapes morphed into words. _Magic is beautiful,_ it said. Floating high above their heads, not even a sword could touch it, the water sparkled as bright as sunshine before slowly dissolving into mist.

The knights were already closing on him, clamouring up the hill towards Merlin.

It was time to go.

With a quick gesture, Merlin slowed their movements, manipulating time as only he could, and then turned, hurried into the castle undercroft. Behind him another flick of magic, and the opening disappeared.

* * *

Merlin might be the greatest sorcerer ever born but conjuring up dinner was something he wasn't good at, and he hadn't thought about the long hours between the knights trying to find him and all the fuss dying down. His stomach growling, he considered sneaking into the storeroom above the kitchen and stealing some bread and a few sausages, but thought better of it. He'd hate to be caught for something so trivial.

Besides he was lonely.

Of course, Gaius was a mind-reader. He had supper waiting, a veritable feast of herb-encrusted chicken and soft bread and berry tarts, their crusts glittering with sugar. It made his mouth water just looking at it all.

But there was a price to be paid for such bounty. Gaius and his eyebrow were both glowering at him. "You are an idiot."

Mouth full of butter-slathered bread, he couldn't well argue the point. He had been a bit of a fool in not planning for some basic necessities other than a hiding place. But then he'd hoped that Arthur would have accepted magic a lot sooner, too.

"You can't come here every night. Arthur tends to sweep in at odd hours, sometimes for no reason, and if he catches you… well, blood is hard to get out of the stones and my knees aren't what they used to be."

"I won't." Wiping his mouth clean, Merlin gave Gaius a little grin. "Don't worry so much. I'll be careful. Besides I've gold enough and if I can't buy food, I'll steal it and leave payment behind." Then he stopped, frowning. "Wait… Arthur comes here? Why? I thought he was ignoring you and with the new physician…."

"He does ignore my advice, Merlin, especially about magic. And any mention of your name brings disfavour." Piling Merlin's empty plate on top of his own and standing, starting to tidy up a bit, Gaius said, "But sometimes he'll come in, look around a bit; he might even have an excuse, a question about something said in council or whatever happened in the lower town that day. He doesn't listen to the answer, though, just gets a far-away look in his eyes, then scowls and leaves."

It would seem that Arthur and he were not so different after all.

With every beat of his heart, Merlin's instincts were to go to Arthur, to beg him to understand and take him back, to return to what they'd had before it all went to hell. He'd fought it, so very much, and yet he'd almost ended up in Arthur's chambers earlier in the day. As though his heart were telling him to return to the centre of his world and nothing else mattered, not even his own life.

He'd only come to his senses a few corridors away. Luckily, he hadn't met any guards.

All the way to Gaius's rooms, it had felt as though he'd lost Arthur all over again. Forever out of reach.

"I miss him. So much."

Gaius's hand was warm on his shoulder, a balm against the grieving chill. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

Sending him a little smile, twisted and sad, Merlin stood, and taking the plates out of Gauis's hand, he went over to the bucket of wash water. A whisper of magic and the dishes were in clear, hot water, cleaning themselves while Merlin watched.

Behind him, Gaius was not amused. In a sharp, exasperated voice, he said, "We've talked about this. What if Arthur were to come?"

Merlin turned around, remembering other times when Gaius was less than happy with him using magic, not the recent ones but long ago when he'd first come to Camelot. It felt good, a sweet memory and he savoured it a moment. "It will be fine. We'll hear him coming. He always was a bit loud. Yelling about something or other that I'd done wrong. Stomping around, making sure everyone pays attention to him. Only time he was quiet was when we were hunting and then I was the one scaring off the game."

He shrugged off the sudden melancholy. It wasn't helping, and he was here for some cheering up after all. Merlin said, "Did you like my unicorns? I was pretty proud of how they turned out. I thought Arthur might remember our adventure to Gedref and soften just a bit. The children certainly liked them."

"And their parents were terrified." Gaius scowled at him. "You do realise that magic isn't going to be accepted in a day."

"I know. I was thinking that…"

Gaius stilled, his hand raised. Outside, footfalls were hurrying fast toward his chambers, someone with chainmail. Merlin could hear the distant clatter echoing up.

He was already running for his old room as Gaius said, "Someone's coming."

It was a near thing. As he retreated behind the door of his old room, Arthur came striding in. Luckily he must not have seen the dishes because he didn't even flick a glance their way. And while he wasn't paying attention, Merlin gestured them slowly into the water and out of sight.

All puffed up in anger, looking as if he were ready to kill someone if they breathed wrong, Arthur snapped, "Where is he?"

From the crack in the door, Merlin could see Gaius standing firm, not at all intimidated by Arthur's wrath. He merely blinked at him, looking confused with the question. "Who, my lord?"

"Emrys!"

Merlin had been at the short end of Arthur's bellowing before, many times if truth be told, but this was the first he'd seen him shouting at Gaius. It wasn't right. But the old man must have had years of experience with Uther's tirades, and while Arthur was livid, he wasn't his father.

Gaius just stood there, steady as a rock in a storm-savaged sea. "My lord?"

That only made Arthur angrier. "Don't!" Face knotted into ferocity, looking as out of control as Merlin had ever seen him, Arthur stepped closer. One hand rested on his sword hilt, the other raised, finger pointed right at Gaius's face, his voice cold and cutting as a blade, he said, "I know you, Gaius. You were the lying face of magic for years, helping to keep… secrets from me. I won't have it." He towered over him, growled out, "Where is he?"

"I don’t know, sire." For a heartbeat, he didn't say anything else, likely waiting to see what Arthur would do, but when he just glared at the old man, Gaius seemed to shrink in. He didn't back down, but he gave the impression of innocence, of trying and failing to accommodate his king. Even his voice was tremulous. "What has he done?"

If looks could kill, Gaius would have been nothing but smoking ash. Arthur stood there, breathing hard, his sword hand tight on the hilt, his other clenching and unclenching as if he were trying to hold back hitting him.

Finally he said, "Made me look a fool. Evading my knights as if it were child's play."

Gaius nodded, slow and steady, humming a little as if in thought. "Rumour has it he made the children laugh. It would seem child's play was his goal."

For a moment, staring at him, Arthur looked as if he'd been poleaxed. Then turning an unlovely shade of fury, he slapped one hand on the table. The sound of it echoed savage-sharp in the room.

"Do not mock me, Gaius."

When Gaius said nothing else, Arthur scowled at him. "He's turned my compassionate gesture into a travesty. He'll pay the price once I get my hands on him. If he knows what's good for him, he'll be long gone before then."

Gaius merely nodded. "That would seem the wisest course."

"If I find that you've been helping him, I won't be… so understanding." Still breathing hard, still radiating a kind of frustrated anger that could quickly morph to violence, Arthur turned away, started for the door. Then he slowed, stopped, his throat working as he glanced around for a brief moment, his eyes flicking to Merlin's door and seeming to deliberately look away again. Almost to himself, he said, "It was something _he'd_ do and I won't…."

Then he must have realised where he was and what he was saying. Pulling himself out of whatever hell he'd been driven into, Arthur turned back into fury. "If you see Emrys, tell him if I find him, he's a dead man."

And with that, he stomped out of the room.

Merlin waited a while, thinking that Arthur might return but as his footsteps faded away, he came out. Standing next to Gaius, both gazing at the closed door, Merlin said, "That went well."

"It would seem that Arthur is unhappy with unicorns."

"He wasn't that happy with them last time, either." When Gaius gave a little hum of disapproval, Merlin rolled his eyes. He wasn't that young boy anymore, although sometimes he still felt that way. "I wonder how he'd react to butterflies."

Beside him, Gaius just grunted.


	16. Chapter 16

 

The butterflies worked out well. The children were shrieking in delight and the parents weren't nearly as worried, just watched for signs of trouble; there were even smiles on some of the faces.

The knights' attempts to capturing the butterflies were the stuff of legend or at least of farce. They didn't seem to understand that swords were not the best weapons of choice, and when someone finally thought to bring a net, the butterflies just vanished and popped up again somewhere else. When Gwen came out to see what the fuss was about, her hair was decorated with them, purple and blue and gold, and she didn't object, seemed instead to enjoy it if the pink in her cheeks was any sign.

It was only when Arthur showed up, scowl set, shouting, that Merlin disappeared back into the hillside.

After that, Merlin stepped up the pace. At least twice a day, he'd magic something into the air, either in the lower town or inside the citadel. Roses bloomed around the throne one day, then there were a dozen rainbows over the gate with nary a cloud in sight. Several times, the torches in the courtyard would dance, bright and beautiful in the firelight, or candles burn with messages of hope. Then there were smoke shapes and swords turning into bouquets of flowers, and once, an acrobatic show using globes of light.

But it wasn't all fun. A home caught fire, cooking oil spilled, and Merlin called down the rain to put it out. A broken wagon wheel, and there was Merlin to help lift it free. The citadel wall was still weak; one time he managed to hold back the stones while the workers scattered out of reach, and then let the boulders fall into an empty field.

He'd almost got caught a couple of times, too, either he was focusing on what he was doing — he couldn't very well let the stones fall on innocent heads — or else the knights were figuring out where he was sneaking into and out of the castle. That was a close call.

But as the nights lengthened and Samhain grew close, Merlin was starting to be concerned.

Arthur was still stubborn as only the clotpole could be. Even the townspeople were beginning to accept that magic might not be all that bad but Arthur was an immovable force. He'd posted bounties on Emrys' head, first ten gold pieces, then a hundred, and it was now up to five hundred gold pieces, a life's fortune for most. And Merlin wasn't sure that even the most honourable wouldn't be tempted. Then, too, there were bounty hunters starting to arrive in Camelot.

It was getting worrisome.

But it wasn't the bounty or Merlin's near misses or even butterflies that brought things to a head.

It was a dog.

A very large dog with glowing eyes, and a taste for human flesh — who could only be defeated with magic.

* * *

Merlin knew there was something wrong the moment a thunder of horses' hooves roared out of the courtyard. He'd not started the day's magic performances; to be honest, he wasn't exactly inventive and he was running out of ideas, well at least out of ideas that wouldn't be misconstrued.

But a moment later, as Merlin stood on the hill overlooking the citadel, Arthur and several of his knights burst through the gate, the clatter of swords and mail echoing in their wake, and they turned eastward, toward the Forest of Aescetir. They did not even glance in his direction.

It looked serious.

It also didn't take long to find out what was going on.

Over the past several days, he'd been deliberately ignored, not by the guards, of course, or the knights searching for him, but by the townspeople. He could walk through the lower town and there were always whispers behind him, of the king's justice, of when things might change. But no one approached him; they were unwilling to get directly involved with a sorcerer, but the attitude seemed to be that it wasn't their business if he overheard something they said, that they could not be blamed for it.

And loudly-spoken gossip travelled very fast.

Talk of magic and a hound of hell were already peppering the air when he arrived. Several townspeople were giving him side-ways glances, looking as if they were either blaming him for the magical threat or else waiting to see how he'd deal with the situation. For that he needed more information, not just gossip.

Gaius, as always, knew everything.

"The people of Greenswood were attacked by a huge hound. White in colour with red ears and eyes, it seemed to target humans. Livestock was left alone. Arthur has gone to kill it before it attacks again. But…," Gaius paused, looking pale and unhappy. Pointing down to a book open to a drawing of a large, vicious dog, he said, "The hound may well be one of the Cwn Annwn, and if so, nothing but magic can defeat it."

Merlin had almost expected this kind of thing. It had been too quiet of late.

"Normally, they run in packs, chasing after wrong-doers and hunting them down — or so the legends go. Those in the area know enough to stay clear of them, even welcome them at times to chase off criminals. But this hound appears to be an aberration, alone and attacking anyone it can find."

"And Arthur expects to defeat this creature with sword and sinew alone." When Gaius nodded, Merlin said, "Is its bite fatal?"

"It can be. There may be poison in its fangs, although the legends are not clear on that point, but more importantly it will tear a man to shreds if cornered." As Merlin started to turn away, getting ready to go after Arthur, Gaius stopped him. "Merlin, it is said that the Cwn Annwn are associated with the Sidhe."

Fury took him a moment but when Merlin was able to breathe again, he said, "Do you think they sent it to kill Arthur?"

Gaius didn't answer right away. Staring down at the drawing and then back at Merlin, he seemed unsure. "Samhain is almost upon us and Arthur has shown no indication of changing his mind about magic. It might be that they are trying to force your hand."

Wanting to smash something in frustration but knowing it wouldn't do any good, Merlin said, "As if I wasn't already doing everything I could."

"The hound can be killed with magic. If you can get there in time…." Merlin was already rushing away, grabbing onto Gaius's medical bag as he went. He'd been trained in physician's arts, too, and Merlin didn't remember seeing anyone with expertise riding with Arthur as he left Camelot. "You'd better hurry. They've an hour head-start on you."

As he opened the door, Merlin shouted back, "I'll steal a horse."

Gaius's voice faded into the distance as Merlin took the stairs, two at a time. "Steal a fast one."


	17. Chapter 17

Merlin was already too late.

By the time he reached the knights, it was chaos. Riding fast towards them, he could see a spray of red, bloody against the mists, and a scream gurgling into silence. There were shouts and the clang of swords, cries of warning and retreat. Shredded cloaks and horses with their sides ripped open and more roars of fury. In amongst the trees, Merlin could hear Arthur telling them to regroup, and then in the tumult, there was another agonized cry.

His horse fighting him, Merlin jumped off, grabbing the medical kit just as the horse bolted. But he didn't have time to think. Running toward the turmoil, he could see the huge white dog, coated in blood and gore rearing up and then charging into the scatter of knights, Arthur foremost among them. Swords rose and then crashed down, but like the griffin so long ago, the metal shattered, useless against it. As Arthur disappeared in the fray, his voice rising over the din as he tried to reform the knights, his shouts were cut short, groans instead painting the air with a terrible finality.

For the merest second, Merlin froze. Then quickly, spying a half-broken sword lying in the dirt, he grabbed it, chanting as he sprinted toward the monster. " _Bregdan anweald sweord; ácwele helrúnan."_

The blade was glowing, blue with magic, soaked with power. He raised it high, then threw it, end over end, sending it hard and fast into the fiend's back.

With an unearthly roar, impossibly, the gigantic dog turned and charged him, saliva-soaked, blood dripping from its powerful jaws, eyes glowing hellfire-red. He'd never seen anything move that fast; he didn't even have time to react. As the animal ploughed into him, he was thrown upward and away with one powerful swipe of a massive paw. And for a moment as he flew through the air, clear as glass, he could see the knights scattered, bloodied, below him, and Arthur lying on the ground, curling inward as if wounded, his chainmail ripped, life pouring out between his hands.

His heart stopping as he realised that he'd failed, he'd failed. It had all been for nothing.

Then, a tree rose up and hit him and there was an agony of broken things against his skull and finally, thankfully, darkness.  

* * *

When he woke, headache as awful as any he'd ever experienced, he was in Gaius's rooms. There were guards by the door and the old man was fussing somewhere nearby. Merlin could hear the mutterings, of stupidity and recklessness and how he'd managed not to get killed while being such an idiot.

But when Merlin tried to move, groaning as he did, Gaius was at his side. A firm hand pushed him back down and the old man's face sharpened into a deep scowl. "It is a good thing you have such a thick skull."

"It feels like there's a herd of badgers inside pounding away with war hammers." Even saying it hurt. In fact, everything hurt. It was if he was one giant bruise interspersed with ripples of jagged bone sticking into his back, his sides, his everything. But that didn't stop him from grabbing onto Gaius's hand. "What happened? Where's Arthur? Is he all right?"

"Mer…," Gaius started to tell him, then glanced at the guards and changed into a low, hurried murmur, "Emrys, he's… he's in a bad way. I couldn't do anything for him. Blaise, too, tried, but…."

Merlin didn't want to hear what he was going to say. He knew that it was bad, that whatever he'd seen in the forest in those brief moments was somehow true, all that pain and terror and spilled gore.

As Gaius pulled his fingers out from under Merlin's hands, wincing as he did so, Merlin steadied himself, expecting nothing but devastation.

"It's a gut wound, deep, and bowels shredded."

For a heartbeat, he couldn't breathe, couldn't even comprehend what Gaius was saying. The words washed over him, unfathomable noise morphing into grief. "We stopped the bleeding. There may have been poison in the fangs but that was the least of it. We were able to counteract that but although we pieced him back together, reconstructing bowel as best we could, infection had already set in. It's only a matter of time before the end."

Fury kicked in, and despair. "No, no, I won't let him, I can't…I can't let it end like this." Merlin pushed himself up, ignoring the ragged lightning thrashing about inside his skull. "I can heal him, I know I can."

"The king has refused magic. Blaise, much to his credit, told him that it was the only way but Arthur was adamant."

"He's a supercilious, idiotic, stubborn, cabbage-headed arse." The white-hot frustration with Arthur was nearly as painful as the pounding in his head.

"Yes, he is." At least Gaius didn't disagree with him.

He needed to take a couple of breaths, just to push past his anger and think clearly enough to fix it all. "Can I see him?"

Shaking his head, glancing toward the men standing by the door, Gaius murmured, "He's heavily guarded as are you. I doubt you would get within ten feet of him."

"I can't…," he started to argue, knowing that in his current state it would be difficult to avoid getting caught if he tried to get to Arthur, when Gwen came sweeping into the room. Surprised, Merlin said, "Gwen, err, Your Majesty."

She looked as stricken as Merlin felt, her face drawn, bruised colour under her eyes, her hair messy, her dress, usually fitted perfectly and riddled with pearls and embroidery, was a sombre, unadorned grey. Nevertheless, she turned toward the guards, and every inch a queen, said, "Leave us."

Waiting until the men bowed and slunk out of the door, closing it behind them, she turned back to them both. Deliberate, decisive, she walked over to where Merlin sat.

"Emrys, my husband has expressly forbidden magic to be used on him. But I am not my husband. I assume Gaius told you about his injuries." It was obvious she was anguished. Even as she tried to put on a brave front, her fingers were busy, knotting and unknotting stray threads on one sleeve. Merlin didn't think she was even aware of it. "Can you cure him?"

He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. But he wouldn't lie to Gwen. Until he saw Arthur with his own eyes, he couldn't be sure that he could save him. "My lady, I don't know. I can only try."

Seeming to understand his caution, she said, "If he wants to rage later, I will take the blame. But cure him and I will be forever in your debt."

This would make things much easier. He could even bring magic books if necessary. "Can you get me into his rooms?"

"I can get you anything you need."

* * *

It was worse than he thought. He'd been a physician's assistant long enough to know the smells, the beginnings of rotting flesh, the acrid odor of dried blood and infection-borne sweat. Merlin's body still protesting the movement, although Gaius's remedy for his headache was working well enough, he hobbled over to Arthur.

But what he saw was just as worrisome. Arthur's face was sunken in, his cheeks flushed and haggard, hair matted with blood and illness. If Gwen's eyes had been bruised, the skin under Arthur's was almost purple.

When Merlin leaned over and gently touched Arthur's forehead, he could feel him burning up. The infection was running strong. If Arthur wasn't cured soon, he would die.

He was muttering, too, nonsense words, and once or twice Merlin thought he heard his name rasped out but that didn't seem possible. It must have been the fever muddying Arthur's senses.

The physician, Blaise, had looked up when Merlin came in but relaxed when Gwen followed close behind him. Now, Merlin needed to know what potions had been used. He didn't want his magic to counteract anything that might be beneficial. "What have you given him for the fever?"

Blaise's voice was deep and steady. "Vinegar to clean the wound and yarrow, fox's clote, self-heal, wine for the infection. The fever has been steadily rising no matter what I do. Cool cloths, chamomile with honey, laurel, arnica, willowbark tea. Poppy for the pain." He nodded to Gaius, spreading his hands wide in hopelessness. "I've run out of things to try."

Nodding, Merlin knew that the physician had done his best. Those were all things Gaius would have used, too. No wonder Blaise was willing to let Merlin in. It would seem that magic was the last resort after all.

"And the monster's poison?" He didn't want to ask, hoped that it would be the least of his worries.

"Southernwood was effective." That was a relief at least but as Blaise looked down at a fevered Arthur, he said, "His illness is not a matter of poison but of wounds gone septic."

"Thank you for trying." As Blaise stepped back, Merlin reached out, drew his hand across Arthur's brow, feeling the heat rising sharp. There was little time left. He looked up again, over to Gwen who stood there, hand to mouth as if trying to keep her sobs from spilling out.

He didn't want to hurt her but he didn't want her to interfere, either. The cure might come easily enough but then again, sometimes what he needed to do could seem cruel; to the uninformed, it might seem as though he were brutalising the body to drive out the illness. "My lady, this may hurt him. Sometimes when wounds heal, they pull against the nerves. He may cry out, gasp or seem to be in pain. You must be prepared for this."

But Gwen was strong, stronger than most. She'd seen enough of healing over the years to know the costs. "Just cure him, Emrys." She straightened, nodded down to Arthur. "Whatever it takes."

He gestured her back and Blaise, too. He didn't need the distraction. As Gwen sat down, face stricken, he could see the physician trying to comfort her, but she just shook her head and watched from a distance.

Turning back to Arthur, he lifted the bed clothes, parted the bandages to look at the wounds. What he saw was horrific. Merlin had been unconscious, hadn't seen what the monstrous dog had done, but it would seem that Arthur's guts were torn to shreds. It was a wonder he'd lived long enough to return to Camelot.

What repairs Gaius and Blaise had done were not enough, would never be enough. The rips into his skin, sewn carefully in an attempt to save Arthur, were puffy red, seeping yellow pus. The smell, too, was one of nearing death, of rotting flesh.

He had to work fast or else it would be too late.

With that, Merlin pulled Arthur's hand into his own. The heat of his illness wound its way up Merlin's arm, settled into his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe for the terror of it. If he couldn't, if he wasn't able to cure Arthur, he'd lose him all over again, and this time, it would be forever.

It couldn't come to that, it wouldn't. He'd die first.

Pushing the fear aside, he forgot about time and dread and loss. Instead, magic began to gather, in his gut, in his mind, in his heart, sun-gold, rich with meaning and powerful. His voice lowered, he let go of it, pouring it into his king. " _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár."_

Arthur started to shake, to pull against Merlin's grip but he held on, chanting, _"_ " _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár. Innoþwund,_ _lácne_." Over and over, and with it, Arthur began to moan as if in pain. " _Feberádl gecælee._ "

As his hand cooled, the wounds began to knit together, stitches merging into flesh. Babbling nonsense, begging him to stop, that it hurt, Arthur gave a great heave up, his body arching as he thrashed about. Groaning louder, voice higher and higher in pain as Merlin chanted magic into Arthur's skin. Behind him, Gwen was sobbing, but no one tried to stop him. No one could have. For Merlin was sending all the power he had into Arthur, and it was working, slowly, but working.

As Arthur slid back into moaning and then into a normal kind of silence, breathing in and out, a healing sleep, his skin cleared, the yellow pus disappearing and sweat drying. On his belly were scars that would always remain, a reminder of what he'd gone through, but at least he would be able to fight another day.

As Merlin started to check Arthur's vital signs, Gaius, next to him, whispered, "He'll live thanks to you, Merlin."

"Gaius, don't." Looking up, scowling, Merlin muttered back, "He can't ever know who I really am."

Under his hand, Arthur was restless but as Merlin smoothed his fingertips over one scarred shoulder, he settled back into sleep.

But Gaius wouldn't let it go. "What if you are wrong? What if the Sidhe were lying about it?"

"I can't take that chance." Merlin shook his head, looked down at the frown on Arthur's face, and lightly stroked it flat. It would seem his king was still in pain a bit, even if he was healed. Blaise would have to watch out for secondary infections and for tears in the scars in his gut.

As he finished up, started to pull the bedclothes over Arthur's stomach, Merlin said, "The Sidhe were very clear. He'll die if I tell him the truth. I have to be Emrys now, no matter how much I wish it were different. I couldn't… if he died because of me… Gaius, I can't."

Shaking his head, giving a resigned sigh, Gaius said, "My boy, if only Arthur knew how much you've done for him over the years."

As he gestured Blaise and Gwen over, Merlin said, "It will be enough that he lives."

Blaise, it would seem, was eager to look at Merlin's work. Gwen held Arthur's hand while Blaise pulled the bedclothes down once more and started to gently, very gently, prod at the scars.

"My lady, I've done all I could. The fever is gone and I believe the wounds are healed well enough. As I'm sure Master Blaise will tell you, Arthur, I mean His Majesty, will need to take it easy for a while, but I expect him to be ignoring doctor's orders soon enough."

"Emrys, we are in your debt." She glanced at him, then turned toward Arthur, holding his hand against her breast. For a moment, she said nothing, just looked down at him. Then seeming to gather herself, Gwen looked up again at Merlin. "If it is within my power, ask anything of me and it shall be yours."

It didn't matter. What he really wanted, she could never give him.

Instead Merlin said, "Try and get him to change his mind about the laws on magic. You have seen Morgana's hatred, but remember Merlin's love and devotion, too. Magic can be used for good, if given half the chance. Please, my lady, let magic be allowed back in Camelot."

She gave him a small, sad smile. "I'll try, Emrys. For your sake and for what you've done today, I'll try."


	18. Chapter 18

Gwen must have been very persuasive.

While magic was still against the laws of Camelot, the next day, the bounty posters for Merlin disappeared. And when he stood on the hill overlooking the lower town, ready for a magical demonstration, the knights just paused there by the gate, watching. No running after him, no swords waving, no shouting at him to stop, nothing about arrest or magic was evil or anything like that. After a moment, they all turned away, began to disperse and go about their business of training on the green.

It was as if he were tolerated at long last, if not accepted wholeheartedly.

Later in the day, after his second appearance — and the water jumping from bucket to bucket was a big success with the children, he looked up to find Arthur watching him from the battlements.

He looked well enough, although still pale. The frown on Arthur's face wasn't that of hatred but confusion, almost as if he was looking for something he'd thought he'd lost and finding something else entirely. And he didn't turn away when Merlin looked back, just kept staring down at him as if trying to fathom him out. He wasn't raging either, a good thing considering the past few weeks, but when Merlin gave him a slight smile, Arthur jerked back, blinking, and then walked away, out of sight.

When he left, to Merlin's eyes, all the colour seemed to leach out of Camelot.

But something was going on inside that straw-for-brains head of Arthur's, perhaps even something good.

For a change.

* * *

Meeting Gaius for dinner, the first one they'd had together in days, was a welcome break. Merlin had been careful to make sure no one saw him climb the stairs to Gaius's chambers as always, but with the tensions in the castle easing a bit, it almost felt as if he needn't have worried. So, too, sitting at the little table, he felt calmer, less concerned about arrests and a furious Arthur than he had been in some time. Gaius, too, seemed untroubled.

Neither of them mentioned the looming deadline of Samhain.

It still raged at the back of Merlin's mind, much as the bruises pulled on him or sudden tinges of pain flaring up when he moved too fast from his encounter with the Cwn Annwn, but he was running out of ideas. He was about ready to beg Arthur, do almost anything to get the clotpole to change his mind, and most of the time, he was on the edge of desperation.

But for now, just for a little while, he wanted to put it all aside and just enjoy Gaius's company.

Of course, Gaius had to wait until Merlin had stuffed his mouth full of bread and chicken before saying, "Arthur wants to meet with you tomorrow. A parley of sorts." It took a while for the coughing to stop and Gaius was looking far too innocent for it to have been an accident. "Eating that fast will give you hiccups."

Merlin took a gulp of water, cleared his throat, glared a bit at the old man, then said, "What do you think he wants?"

"He's been asking a lot of questions about magic and transformations and the Sidhe and especially who you are, where you are from, and what your motives might be." He leaned back, frowning, turning inward for a moment. "I'm not sure but he seems to be brooding quite a bit about something."

"That is better than trying to take my head off."

"It's a miracle you still have your head on considering how reckless you are." Raising his eyebrows as if daring him to disagree, when Merlin didn't say anything, Gaius just shook his head. They both knew Gaius was right about Merlin's sometimes rash decisions. "He also asked about what it was like before the Purge, about sorcerers and magical limits and how other kingdoms deal with magic."

That sounded very encouraging. Merlin might have even called it hopeful. "Do you think he might change his mind? That healing him might have been the key?"

"You'll have to ask him." Looking serious, Gaius reached over, patted Merlin's hand. "Just be careful."

"Aren't I always?"

* * *

Arthur was waiting for him in the council chamber. Merlin had walked right past the guards and they hadn't stopped him, didn't acknowledge him at all, just opened the door and closed it behind him. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not but at least they hadn't tried to kill him this time.

Inside, Arthur was alone, seated at the head of the table, two goblets next to him.

It was to be a private audience, then.

"Emrys, be welcome." Gesturing for Merlin to sit next to him and then shoving one goblet in his direction, Arthur waited until Merlin had settled into the seat and taken a small sip before saying, "You are a mystery, a sorcerer who came out of nowhere. That story about you being from Willowdale doesn't hold up. No one there has ever heard of you." Turning toward him, looking at Merlin with an unblinking stare, he said, "Do all sorcerers lie?"

With Arthur so close, it took everything in Merlin not to beg for forgiveness, not to babble out all the things he'd never got to say, to confess who and what he was. To touch Arthur's arm and fall against his neck and weep.

But instead, pushing the goblet aside, putting both hands flat on the table, he said, "I was afraid that solders would come and destroy my village if anyone knew where I was from. But I've not lied about why I'm here, nor about my loyalties to you and to Camelot." When Arthur scowled at that, Merlin raised his chin, daring him to object. "I've had to hide who I was and what I was for my entire life. If that is a lie, then yes, sorcerers lie."

For the longest time, Arthur just stared at him, silent but as focused as Merlin had ever seen him. Fingers rigid against his mouth, cupping his face as he sat there, thinking hard and long. Merlin had seen it a thousand times when Arthur was trying to make sense of things. Not a hunter looking for prey, probing for weaknesses, but a king trying to find truth in a tangle of lies.

But whatever he found, he did not say. Instead, letting his hand fall away, he gave a single nod. "Merlin would have told me the same thing."

Hearing his name was like a jolt of lightning, a sharp warning that there was still much to lose. "Merlin was a wise man."

"Merlin was an idiot." For a brief second, Arthur looked as if he were going to smile, a lightness showing in his eyes, but it leached away and what remained was only a sad kind of longing. "Clumsy, foolish, always throwing himself into danger no matter what I said, a reckless dollop-head who frustrated me no end. I was supposed to be the one protecting him and all along he…."

As Arthur stumbled into silence, Merlin couldn't help it. Arthur had to know how much he meant to him. "You were his whole world. He'd have done anything for you, no matter what the cost to himself."

It didn't seem to comfort Arthur. "He believed in me and now he's gone."

"A choice he was willing to make."

Merlin wanted to put meaning behind it, to let Arthur know that it was always Merlin's gift to him, to sacrifice everything for him. But Arthur just shook his head and lapsed back into brooding. Leaning back, fingertips against his mouth again, his eyes stormy with emotion, Arthur let the silence linger.

Then, his back hard against the chair, mouth white with tension, he said, "You have magic. Can you bring Merlin back?"

Startled, he almost choked. That Arthur would want Merlin to bring him back when he was sitting right there was ironic. But of course, Arthur didn't know that.

"No. Once someone has passed through the veil, there is no return."

Arthur watched him as he said, "Lancelot came back."

Remembering the time when he'd thought Lancelot had returned, there had been so much joy at first, then that had turned into sorrow, and finally into hard duty when Merlin had to betray him. Lancelot had been himself again for a brief moment of thanks by the lake, and then he was gone forever and Merlin alone, alone in all of it.

He gave a little shudder. "That was a shade. Just a body that looked like Lancelot and even then under Morgana's control and it was dark magic. Is that what you want?"

"No." Arthur looked startled, as if he hadn't known until then that the Lance who had betrayed them all was of Morgana's making. "Did Merlin ever use dark magic? To transform things?"

"Use of dark magic, no. It corrupts the spirit." Merlin didn't answer the second part. It was getting too close to dangerous ground. But Arthur must have noticed.

"But he could transform things with magic, himself perhaps or others." Arthur was staring at him so intently that it was worrisome.

"Sire, I…," Merlin tried not to panic. If he didn't know better, he would have said that Arthur knew about him, knew about Emrys. It was impossible and yet the questions were so close to the truth that Merlin couldn't breathe for it. Carefully, on a knife's edge, he said, "He only ever transformed himself. In order to save his friends or else if there was a danger that others might find out his secret. But it was light magic, not dark."

"Which times?" Arthur's gaze was boring into him, a hunter's intensity. When Merlin didn’t answer right away, he said, "Merlin has nothing to fear from me now and I want to know."

Swallowing hard, Merlin said, "A few times as Dragoon. The first time to save the queen, then trying to save your father before it all went to hell." Arthur looked poleaxed but then scowling, he gestured for Merlin to continue. "Spying on Morgana when necessary. Once as the Dolma when the queen was enchanted."

"The Dolma? She was a batty old fool. And Dragoon made me carry him and he kicked me, too." Eyes narrowing, he seemed at first incredulous and then offended with the idea of such ridiculous disguises. If things weren't so dire, Merlin would have laughed about it.

"Well, Merlin did say it was payback for all the muck work you made him do. Cleaning the stables is for stable boys and he knew it and you knew it and you made him do it anyway. But the kicking was harmless enough."

"If he were here, he'd be in the stocks for that." Arthur shook his head, eyes softening a moment in memory. "I always did say he was a girl."

Merlin wanted to lighten the mood, steer Arthur away from the talk of transformation before it was too late. He sent Arthur a soft smile. "And a daffodil and a girl's petticoat among others. You have quite a vocabulary."

"As did he. His insults were nonsensical." Giving a little huff of amusement, Arthur said, "They made me laugh although I couldn't tell him that."

Merlin began to relax. "He knew, Sire. He went out of his way to think up ridiculous ones just to make you smile."

But Arthur's amusement faded and he looked down at his hands a moment, before gazing back up at Merlin. A mulish look on his face as if reluctant to admit something and yet determined to do it, he said, "I tried, though. To bring him back."

"Sire?" Merlin was confused by the change in Arthur's demeanour.

With that, Arthur stood, pushed away the chair and walked over to the window, looking at the stained glass hues on the floor. For a long moment, he just stared at it, following the lines of colour, as the silence grew and grew. Finally, he walked back to his seat, stood there on one side of it, his thumb rough against the wood carving. He didn't look at Merlin.

"When I woke and found Merlin had traded his life for mine, I was furious. That he would sacrifice himself for me seemed unbearable. And every day after that, my anger grew. At him, at myself, at magic." He looked upset, almost sick with the idea of what he'd done. "I began to explore ways of bringing him back somehow but I had no magic and I couldn't bring myself to ask Gaius."

Merlin was appalled. To try and use necromancy was the worst kind of dark magic. If Arthur had got caught up in it, it could have ruined everything.

"Gaius would have told you that it was of the dark and not to try."

"I wouldn't have listened." Arthur took a deep breath and let it out. He seemed determined to tell Merlin what he had done. "I took the Horn of Cathbhadh to the Standing Stones but Merlin wouldn't see me, not even when I begged. If my father's ghost could appear, why not Merlin? But he wouldn't show himself and… I," Rubbing his hand across his forehead, looking at Merlin at last, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes haunted, he said, "I thought he hated me for it, for letting him die. I blamed magic for everything, and I was growing as bitter as my father had once done."

Wanting to console him, knowing that it would not be welcome, still, he tried to ease Arthur's pain.

"Merlin would have come if he could have. I am sure of it." Leaning forward, but still too far away for comfort with Arthur so far out of reach, he said, "He loved you, more than his own life. He sacrificed everything for you, to protect you. And if he were here, he'd tell you that he'd do it again. For you."

"I believe he would." With that, Arthur changed again, turned first hopeful and then determined, a focused look, searching out the truth no matter what.

"You talked of transformation."

"Sire?" Taken aback, Merlin began to shake. He thought he'd diverted Arthur enough but it would seem he was not to be led astray, instead following his instincts into disaster.

Moving closer, one hand on the back of Merlin's chair, the other on the table, towering over Merlin, boxing him in, Arthur said, "And yet you never mention the possibility that Merlin isn't dead, that he's transformed for whatever reason. To protect someone. He's done it before."

He could feel the blood draining from his face. Turning cold as ice, heart no longer beating, his mind babbling at him to do something and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Arthur knew, he knew and if Merlin didn't fix it, he'd die again. Arthur floating away on a boat filled with fire and ice and magic forever gone from the world but it wasn't what filled him with dread. It was the emptiness of a life without Arthur. Oh, Triple Goddess, help him.

He could hear gasping in the distance, and it was only when he took a breath, fire in his lungs from lack of air, that he recognised the sounds as his.

Taking another deep breath, trying to look as if he were just being a long-suffering man dealing with someone who was a little misguided, he said slowly, carefully, "Merlin is dead, Sire. He is not coming back."

When Arthur looked mutinous, Merlin reached over, patted at his hand, hoping to sound like Gaius treating a patient.

"Please do not think such things. For your own sake, you must accept that he is gone."

Quick as a snake, Arthur grabbed his hand, turned it over and stared down at Merlin's wrist. The skin, covered in symbols stark against pale flesh, most of it hidden under the embroidered sleeve, was a sharp counterpoint to Arthur's sun-browned hand.

Merlin just let him trace the symbols with one rough finger, Arthur pushing up the fabric to see the whole of the design. Merlin's heart was racing fast, hoping that what he'd said had been enough, that Arthur would turn aside from this incessant need to find Emrys's truth and instead live.

Glancing up, Arthur stared unblinking at him and there was a long searching moment, as intense as a pyre's heat or a sword-thrust into the heart, of destiny and coins and love, of one heart calling to another as the world held its breath and then he let Merlin's hand go.

Drawing his own shaky breath, looking as if he'd seen the terror in Merlin's eyes and realised the reason for it, Arthur nodded.

"I know he's gone but I was hoping for a guardian angel for him, too." He said softly, "He was always mine."

Merlin couldn't breathe again, this time in relief. Swallowing against the grief, he said, "I'm sorry, my lord, more than I can say."

Still holding onto Merlin's chair, his other hand scrubbing through his hair, Arthur turned away, gazing instead at the stained glass glowing in the sunlight. "Do you know you have Merlin's eyes?"

Struggling against a lump in his throat, he stammered out, "I… it's… I'm his cousin after all. It runs in the family."

Nodding, Arthur was still not looking at him, still just standing there, apparently deep in thought. "And you look like a bit like that dragonlord, Balinor."

"Again a cousin. Balinor was Merlin's father."

He'd never told Arthur about his father, never mentioned him after that horrible day when he'd unleashed the dragon. So he wasn't surprised when Arthur did turn back to him, frowning at the news. "That would explain a great deal."

When Merlin said nothing else, Arthur nodded. He was solemn and discontent; the sharp lines around his mouth and narrowed eyes were evidence enough, but he'd always been able to read Arthur. He was struggling with something but resigned, too, and Arthur's unhappiness was always Merlin's. "I am grateful for all you have done."

Putting whatever grief they were both going through aside, Merlin knew he had to push. Samhain was tomorrow and he couldn't let it end like this. "Sire, will it be enough to allow magic back into Camelot?"

"Come, they are waiting for us." Arthur didn't say anything else, just gestured for Merlin to follow him.

"Who?" Much as he trusted Arthur, Merlin didn't necessarily trust the king he'd returned to from Avalon. "You promised that this was a truce. Will you go back on your word again?"

Shaking his head, Arthur said, "Have no fear. I'm done with unkept promises."

* * *

The Great Hall was filled with people, nobles, knights – he could see Percival towering over some of the others, Leon beside him, and some of the townsfolk whose lives Merlin had saved. Gwen was seated on one of the thrones and she sent Merlin a little smile, then turned solemn again as she watched them both.

Walking in, Merlin trailing behind him, he had expected Arthur to sit, in judgment as king. But instead standing in front of his throne, he pulled Merlin beside him so that they were shoulder to shoulder, equals in this one moment.

The gesture was not unobserved. A sharp rise in noise, a hundred voices talking at once and neighbours putting their heads together, all wondering what that could mean. But then a moment later, Arthur gestured for silence. And there was sudden quiet.

"A man should keep his word. A king even more so."

In the hall, there was a shocked intake of collective breath. Kings did not say such things, certainly not in public. But Arthur was no ordinary king; he was Merlin's, honourable and just, always trying to do the right thing, and while there were slips and him being a prat at times, Merlin wouldn't have had it any other way.

Arthur waited, looking from one face to another, letting the moment grow. But close beside him, Merlin could see he was nervous, too, his fingers curling a little, although to everyone else he would seem confident, absolutely certain of what he was saying.

"Merlin was a gadfly and ridiculous at times and the best friend a man could ever have. He sacrificed everything for me and asked nothing in return, not money, not lands, not a title. But as he lay dying, exchanging his life for mine, he begged for one thing. Not for himself but for those like him."

At that, Arthur turned toward him, his eyes searching Merlin's, his face full of regret. Standing there, it was as if they were alone, cocooned from the world, both of them gazing deeply into each other's heart and finding solace there. And if Arthur's voice wavered just a little, it was no one's business but theirs.

"In my grief, I ignored my promise to him, and when Emrys tried to remind me of it, I turned on him, tried to drive him from the land. It was dishonourable to do so, and for that I am truly sorry."

Now it was Merlin's turn to be shocked but he could feel the moment rising, hope building in his chest, his heart thundering, all his focus on Arthur.

Arthur gave a short nod, as much of a bow as a king could give, then turned back to those in the Great Hall. The silence was absolute as they all stood there, waiting, waiting.

"A king's word is his bond, and for that reason and many others besides, I hereby declare that the laws on magic to be null and void."

Merlin stood there, numb. Arthur's death avoided, and magic accepted into Camelot, it was too much for him to comprehend; he was feeling joy and utter grief and such exhaustion that he thought he might melt from it, go to sleep for a thousand years or else dance in wild abandon until Arthur smiled at him again. It was enough, it was over, and destiny fulfilled at last.

Sunlight began to stream through the stained glass windows, turning the floor in front of him into a riot of colour, and his beloved king surrounded by it, as golden and beautiful as a summer's day.

Legs feeling like gelatine melting in the sun, Merlin must have trembled a bit, looked as if he were going to faint because in the next moment, Arthur's hand was gripping his arm, holding him up. As Arthur smiled and nodded to the throng, he whispered, so softly that only Merlin could hear him, "Don't faint now, you idiot. Wait until later. In private, you can have as much of a wobble as you like, but not here, not now."

Luckily, the noise of the crowd was almost too much, echoing off the walls, a hundred or more arguing amongst themselves as to what would happen next.

As Merlin nodded, straightening up, Arthur dropped his hand. Then stepping forward, he gestured for silence once more.

It took a while. Some among the crowds were joyous as though they, too, had secrets that would soon be revealed, while others just looked aghast at the idea of magic loose in the world again.

When it was quiet, Arthur pulled Merlin next to him, said, "Emrys has shown us that magic can be as beautiful as a butterfly or as powerful as healing a dying man." Several were nodding, especially those who had been helped by Merlin. Others just stood there, waiting to see what other pronouncements would turn the world upside down again.

"We had already known the evil it can bring, but with understanding comes acceptance. And I hope Emrys will accept a seat at the Round Table as my advisor in magical matters."

Now Merlin really did want to slide down to the floor and lie there a while; it wasn't just his legs wobbling but every part of him. He'd dreamed of this so many times and thought that it was forever beyond his reach.

But with Arthur looking at him, expectant and stern and almost fond, Merlin couldn't embarrass him like that in front of his people. "Arthur… Majesty, I don't know what to say." He bowed his head a moment, then gave Arthur a little smile. "Thank you."

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, then nodded and turned back to the throng. Raising his hands wide, he said, "Tomorrow is Samhain. A time of trials and reflection. It is also a time of new beginnings. Let it be the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity."

As the bells rang out, and Arthur smiled at him again, Merlin knew. It would be all right after all.

And so it was.


	19. Epilogue

With magic's acceptance, a golden age of legend rose up, growing larger and more magnificent with each passing year.

It wasn't without trials, opposition from those who had been hurt by magic or factions who saw Arthur as bewitched or foolishly led by a trickster, but as magic flourished, so too did the kingdom, first of Camelot and then of Albion. Sometimes, Arthur would yell at his Emrys and the fights would grow loud and raucous, but there were also the quiet times, two sides of the same coin enjoying beauty and butterflies dancing in the sunlight and laughter. And tears.

If Merlin's smile was tinged with sadness from time to time, there was relief, too. For while he couldn't be the man he'd once been to Arthur, he became the sorcerer, the advisor, the rock Arthur needed, that Albion needed.

It was almost enough.

* * *

But with all good things, there was always an ending.

Arthur lived a good long life, moving into old age. He'd seen his Gwen die years before; there had been no children. Merlin had refused to use magic on Gwen, but his cousin's boy was fostered in Camelot and Cador would be the next high king. Gaius had died years before that and his knights kept changing as they moved into domestic bliss, or while defending the kingdom, losing their lives. Old and new and each year, Arthur moved a little slower, even as Merlin tried to help.

Magic could not cure everything, though, no matter how much Merlin might want it.

George died after many years of service, and magical advisor or not, Merlin wouldn't let anyone else replace him, taking on the role of manservant once again. He never did tell Arthur who he really was though, the Sidhe's warnings always present, but they became almost as close.

So on one fine spring morning, when Arthur's breathing grew slow and heavy, Merlin was so concerned about him that he wouldn't stop trying to fix things, with magic or without. And apparently it was driving Arthur mad.

"My bed clothes are fine, my armour is fine, the spider webs… over the mantle are gone and all is as it should be." As Merlin fluffed up Arthur's pillow once more, Arthur clutched at his arm, using leverage to pull him down, to get him to sit on the bed. "I'm dying of old age, not a septic wound or a broken heart… or anything really that you can just magic away… so let me be. Stop fussing so, Merlin."

At first it didn't register. Merlin smiled fondly at the old worryguts, tried to think of a new insult to make him laugh and then he couldn't breathe.

"Sire? Did you hit your head while I was getting your breakfast? You seem confused." He put one hand on Arthur's forehead, frowned at the coolness there. "You don't have a fever."

Arthur batted his hand away. "Merlin, stop."

It couldn't be. After all this time, it couldn't be. It had to be a mistake. Perhaps Arthur was growing addled; Merlin had hit him on the head far too many times over the years and maybe, just maybe, it was finally coming back to haunt him.

Patting Arthur's hand and then pulling back when he sent Merlin a frosty glare, slowly, carefully as if speaking to a child, he said, "Sire, I am Emrys. Merlin died a long time ago."

Arthur shook his head, looked at Merlin as if he was the one that was addlebrained. "Really, Merlin, I am not that… stupid. I've known for quite… some time. Since that monster dog tore my guts out… and started chewing on them." When Merlin looked down at him in horror, Arthur gave a little cough, seemed to catch his breath, then said, "I heard you talking… to Gaius."

The world turned grey, black-tinged around the edges, as if Merlin were going to faint at any moment. There was a roaring in his ears, too, and his heart seemed to have stopped. He couldn't talk, couldn't do anything but gape at Arthur.

"You… I can't. I’m Emrys. I have to be." Voice catching, wanting to thrust the sudden grief out of his throat and away from his chest, he said, "You'll die."

Arthur's smile turned fond and he was the one patting Merlin's hand this time. "In case you haven't… noticed, I'm dying anyway."

"Arthur…." He couldn't do this, couldn't let Arthur know the truth. It was too much to ask of him.

But Arthur wasn't one to leave things alone, even dying. Like a bulldog, once he got his teeth into something, he'd never let it go. As Merlin tried to come to grips with this, Arthur smiled up at him, reached out and pulled his beard a little. "I'd like to see your face… just once. Not this long white beard. Not the false face of… Emrys, but yours. Please, Merlin, grant me… this."

Never able to tell him no even when he was being an utter prat, all but begging for something Merlin could grant, for him to hear the slow rattle in Arthur's voice and see his king's fading strength was too much. And underneath it all, Merlin knew that there was very little time left.

Nodding, he gathered up his power, still full and sun-bright in his chest and glorious, and pushed inward, along the lines of transformation, through all the black symbols in his skin, forcing them to disappear, never to be seen again when he said, " _Onhlíde._ "

He could feel the difference. The beard was gone and the white hair, the gnarled hands smoothing into youth. He'd not known but it would seem he was his younger self once more, that age had not touched him in all the years he'd known Arthur.

Painful the difference now with Arthur laying there, old and dying. Merlin couldn't explain it, either. Most sorcerers aged normally but apparently not him.

But Arthur didn't seem to care. His face was glowing happiness, as delighted as he had ever seen him. Reaching out, his hand shaking and cold, skin paper-thin with age, still he cupped Merlin's face, touching his cheeks, ruffling the dark hair, all the while a sense of wonder in Arthur's eyes.

"There… you are. I've missed you, you idiot."

"I've been right here, all this time." Merlin wanted to cry. Instead, blinking back tears, he smiled, saying, "I've missed you, too, clotpole."

Arthur let his hand drop to his side, as if the effort was too much for him, but Merlin missed the connection. Twining his fingers with Arthur's, he brought their hands back to his face, let his warmth seep into Arthur's fragile skin.

Arthur smiled again, seemed to enjoy the touch. "When I'm gone, do not… mourn. We've had a good run." Breathing growing more difficult with every word, struggling to get it out, he said, "I'd not have wanted anyone… else at my side… but you. You mean more… to me than I can say."

"The Sidhe told me once that I loved you too much for my own good." With Merlin's other hand, he brushed Arthur's hair, then cupping one thin cheek, he said, "Still do. Always will."

Arthur was sinking fast. Breath harsh, stumbling with words, fighting to get it all out before it was too late, he said, "When I am… gone, don't bury me.. in the crypts. I've always… preferred the forests and… the fresh air. Let me go… in the old… ways."

"I promise."

He tried not to sob, not to beg Arthur to stay, but his cheeks were wet with grief. Arthur must have felt it, his fingers still caught against Merlin's skin and he gave Merlin a little smile, then struggled to turn his head, kissed Merlin's knuckles.

It was too much effort, no strength left in him, and he fell back into the pillows. "I loved… you, too…, you know. The best friend… a man could… ever… have."

One last breath and the smile was still there but it melted into a grimace and then into death.

Merlin sat there a moment, his hand still gripping Arthur's, as numb as if plunged into a freezing river. He wanted to scream, to cry out his grief, to annihilate the world for taking Arthur away. But that would have obliterated Camelot and Merlin could never destroy something that Arthur had loved so much.

So instead, outside, lightning cracked and it began to rain. And rain. And rain.

* * *

They'd found him next to Arthur's cooling body, a young Merlin weeping over the dead king. The guards tried to drag him away but lightning outside and in proved too much for them. It wasn't until someone, Geoffrey, ancient though he was, recognised him, and told Cador to leave him alone.

Geoffrey proved invaluable, then, reminding Merlin of his duty, of Arthur's final journey, of a need for the late king to lie in state in the Great Hall so that the people of Camelot could say their final farewells.

It made a distant kind of sense and he let himself be led away.

It was three days, three days where lightning continuing to pour out of the sky and the rain flooding rivers, washing away fields, collapsing bridges and homes before the new king finally had enough.

Cador found him kneeling before Arthur's bier, Merlin never taking his eyes off his beloved king, all the while knights and nobles and the townsfolk huddled nearby. "Emrys, you have to stop this."

When Merlin didn't reply, Cador said, "Arthur wouldn't have wanted this. You stood before him and promised to help Camelot and protect its people. This is not the way."

Grief still stained his heart and he could barely hear what the High King was saying but something got through.

When Cador reminded him again of duty and magic and Arthur's own wishes, Merlin drew a deep breath and rose up. He looked at Cador, glanced around at all the frightened mourners, then said, "My name is Merlin."

Nodding, he turned, swept out of the Great Hall, walking away from his Arthur.

Behind him, the noise of a dozen arguments were drowned out by one last lightning strike, a huge crack echoing in the hall. And then as the thunder rumbled away, the rain stopped and a weak sunlight seeped into the castle.

There was a collective sigh of relief but Merlin could only think of one last promise to keep.

And when night fell, he crept back into the hall, and stole Arthur's body to take back to Avalon. He didn’t want anyone following so he left a glamour behind. No one would ever know the difference but Merlin.

* * *

The lake was swollen high with rain but Merlin was able to find the boat easily enough.

A bier worthy of Arthur Pendragon, the boat filled with sweet flowers and scented pine, Merlin had laid him out in Pendragon red, his armour polished as bright as moonlight and Excalibur gleaming in his hand. Out amongst the tall trees and rain-cleansed air as he had asked before leaving Merlin forever.

He'd brought him back to Avalon, thought the Sidhe owed him something after all. He'd helped to return magic to the land and that is what they had wanted so long ago.

And now it was his turn for a favour. "Gwynn, show yourself."

No Sidhe flying around, silence except for a lark singing in the distance and the gentle lap of waves against the shore, but Merlin wasn't having it. "Gwynn, I've done as you asked."

From behind him, the beating of wings, and as he turned, a tiny Gwynn was there, looking as blue as ever, mistrustful and cautious as he glanced down at Arthur's body and then back at Merlin. "Yes, with a little help from us." When Merlin scowled, his eyes narrowing in anger, Gwynn grew and grew until he was man-sized once more.

Merlin stood there, arms folded, grief and fury mixing in a toxic chaos of emotion. "Sending the Cwn Annwn was not helpful. He almost died because of you."

"But he didn't. And you fulfilled your destiny and his. And he lived a lot longer than he would have had we not interfered." Gywnn didn't look impressed, merely shrugged his disinterest, then stood there, waiting.

Hating this, hating having to ask something of a people known for trickery and deceit, still he owed it to Arthur. Taking a deep breath, letting it out, trying not to look at Arthur's corpse, he said, "You said once that he was long awaited in Avalon. I've brought him to you."

"We know it was difficult. But he will be honoured amongst our kind." Gwynn seemed to soften at that, looking down at Arthur and back up again at Merlin. "But you must send him on his way."

How could he when Arthur was his whole world? But that world was gone and there was nothing left of destiny or purpose or love. His eyes filling with tears, he raised his hand, and with one last look at the man who had meant everything to him, he said, " _In sibbe gerest._ "

The boat floated out into the mist, Pendragon red fading, fading, and Merlin couldn't see him anymore, the tears smearing everything into a watery kind of blur. And then there was only the lake, the boat disappearing as if it had never been.

Beside him, Gwynn said softly, "Do not mourn him, Emrys, for his time is not over."

Noise, nonsense words as his heart beat torment against his chest and he couldn't believe he was still breathing, his head so full of anger and hopeless devotion that nothing else seemed to matter. But as he drew another breath and his heart didn't stop, Gwynn seemed to understand what he was going through.

"Merlin, listen to me." That caught his attention. He'd been Emrys for so long and only Arthur had called him Merlin in those last few precious moments, and it seemed as if Gwynn was trying to say something. Concentrating, shoving his sorrow aside for later when he could nurse it and think about dying, too, he nodded.

"In the years to follow, the once and future king will return when Albion's need is greatest." He'd heard these words before. Kilgharrah had said something about it, too. Perhaps it wasn't just another trick. He listened harder, tried to focus on what Gywnn was saying.

"You must be ready. For Arthur will need your help when he does." Still confused, still holding onto a grief so deep that nothing could penetrate it, Merlin didn't answer, just stood there.

"Wait for him… he will come again."

It must have been all Gwynn wanted to say. With a sweep of his arm, he flew into the air, growing smaller with every beat of his wings, and then he disappeared off into the mists where Arthur had gone.

Merlin was alone. To think, to feel, to mourn. To find nothing but confusion and chaos and grief. And yet, something was there, the merest spark of hope, hidden beneath the lightning storm of destruction in his chest.

Kilgharrah had said the same thing, that Arthur would come again, that he was the once and future king. That there was a future for Merlin after all, a destiny more than endless loss, and he only had to wait for Arthur's return.

He only had to wait for him.

* * *

Over the centuries, the legends, the myths grew strange, pulled and tore the fabric of Arthur's life and rearranged it into new tapestries of song and story. There were tales of Merlin living in a crystal cave or beneath the hollow hills or perhaps in the heart of an oak tree and each age added another layer of lies to it.

But in one thing, the stories were true.

Merlin waited for Arthur to return, even as arrows became bullets, horses became tanks and the birds of the air grew metal wings and flew high enough to touch the sky. Waited for Albion's greatest need and its greatest hero to return. Waited with a despairing heart and endlessly broken hopes as years became decades, became centuries, and then millennia. Waited for Arthur to rise again and smile at him and call him idiot. Waited through all the lonely years.

Merlin is waiting still.

The end.

 

Evil spirit, depart you from this body. = _Yfel g_ _æ_ _st,_ _áfierre þ_ _u fram_ _þisne_ _líchaman._ _  
_ Ascend, dragon.= _Upastige draca  
_ Remove eternity's curse. Draw breath, Arthur, and live _= Abire_ _wyrgþe écnesse. Bregdan, Arthur, und leofae.  
_ Light, find him. Find Arthur. _=_ _Léoht,, ab_ _eþece_ _hine._ _Abeþece Arthur.  
_ Show Emrys his true appearance. = _Aetíe Emrys_ _unswicendean andwlitan.  
_ Make light. = _Léohte  
_ Mountain (burial place), cover the dragon. = _Beorg, áhelle draca._ **  
** Butterfly = _Fífalde  
_ Repair/fix _= Swíðe  
_ Heal thoroughly _= Thurhhæl  
_ I heal your wound thoroughly = _Ic þé þurhhæle þínu lícsár.  
_ Raise, stone = _Abregdan, stán!  
_ Bone fracture, heal = _Bánbryce,_ _þurhhæl  
_ Cure = _Gelácne  
_ Heal (wound) _= Lácne  
_ Unicorns, play _=_ _Anhornas, læce._ **  
** Change = _Behwierfaþ  
_ Hide = _Bedígle  
_ Move the powerful sword; slay the hellish monster = _Bregdan anweald sweord; ácwele helrúnan  
_ Fever, cool = _Feberádl gecælee_  
Intestinal wound, heal (wound) = _Innoþwund,_ _lácne  
_ Reveal = _onhlíde  
_ Rest in peace = _In sibbe gerest._

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
